


fathoms below

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Character Death, Curses, Eventual Happy Ending, Golden Age of Piracy, Historical Fantasy, IT'S ME, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Infidelity, M/M, Magical Realism, Period Typical Bigotry, Probably a little OOC, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, how could there not be a happy ending, i did some research for this but take it with a grain of salt, it's about the found family, lotta bad world building, occasionally a sick fic, please ignore it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 43,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: It starts with a silhouette on the horizon, visible in the distance from Tom's ship.Pirates.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 207
Kudos: 70





	1. the calm before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> so...uh... here we go? 
> 
> title's from the little mermaid

The loveliest thing about the ocean was the silence. 

That’s what Tom thought at least. He loved the city, loved the sights, and the smells, and the _people_ people, but not much compared to the silence of the great ocean in front of him. Sometimes it felt like they were the only people in the entire world, and sometimes he thought that perhaps that would be alright. 

The wind still refused to blow, so even the constant companion noise of the water breaking beneath the hull was absent. Tom popped his compass open-- it had been a present from Shiv, before this voyage, made of a dark pine wood, with shiny brass features. If the wind didn’t return soon, they’d be even further delayed and then Tom would get a proper discipline when he finally got home. 

Mr. Roy had never taken kindly to people who cost him money, and time was money.

But he could afford to enjoy the silence for a few more moments at least. 

“Sir!” 

Or not.

Tom shut his eyes and drew a deep, calming breath. He tucked the compass away and turned from the ocean. 

Perhaps the silly stories about sirens and mermaids calling sailors over the edge were not quite stories after all. The moment he turned from the water he wanted to go back.

“What is it?” he called. 

Frantically, the owner of the voice climbed down from the crow’s nest, spyglass in hand. He was breathing fast-- he was no more than a teenager really, Tom realized. He hadn’t learned most of the crew, simply because he didn’t need to. They knew him, and that was enough. Tom was to be Logan Roy’s son by law, and they were on Logan’s payroll after all. They did as he asked, and didn’t ask questions about some of the cargo down below, and he thought he treated them fair enough in return. 

“You’d better see for yourself sir,” the boy said. 

Tom frowned, and put the glass to his face, worry pooling in his stomach. The waves were still quiet, no cannons or shouting broke the silence, but night was falling quickly, and if something was coming, he did not want it to sneak up in the dark.

He scanned the horizon quickly, with the trained eye of a naval boy-- which he’d been for most of his life after all. And finally he settled on a spot, still far away, but making its way towards them with some significant amount of speed. Clearly a ship, clearly with intentions of heading towards them. Without the wind, they’d be lucky to make it very far at all before the ship caught up to them. Essentially, they were shit out of luck. 

“Another ship?” the boy asked. Henry, maybe, Tom thought. Or Harrison. Something like that. 

“Might be,” Tom shook his head and handed the glass back without much care, “Can’t very well see it’s colors this far out. But it appears they’re towing towards us.”

“What should we do?” Henry-- Harold. Maybe it was Harold-- asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so, “What if it’s somebody that ain’t too friendly?”

The thought had crossed Tom’s mind. Naturally it had. The seas could be a war zone if they liked. He glanced up at the British flag they were flying, and briefly considered taking it down. If the ship’s crew _were_ unfriendly, Tom knew they could stave them off for a bit, but it was possible it would resort to violence, and Logan would be deeply unhappy if his cargo were lost, or in the hands of some enemy.

“We can’t get very far without wind,” Tom explained, “But we’ll break out the oars. Just to be cautious. I’m not going to give them a chase. As of now, they don’t know we’ve spotted them.”

The boy stared at him. Tom hated it. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to do. They could not outrun a pirate ship. Not weighed down as they were, but perhaps if they feigned ignorance for long enough… 

“Meaning we’ve got the upper hand,” Tom said, growing quickly tired of the incompetence, “Never mind, I’ll do it myself. Get back to your post. Keep an eye out for their flag.”

“Yes sir!” the boy scurried away and Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Tom stalked away below the decks, shouted at anyone who happened to cross his path to get to their damn stations, and took a half moment in his quarters to think it over. 

When Tom had agreed to the voyage, for Logan, it was with the understanding that this was the final trip before he could stay on dry land. He and Shiv would marry, and would get a home of their own. Logan would give him a nice office job, and he could command from solid ground. It wasn’t that he minded the ocean, minded the long months at sea, but he knew it was his job only because none of the Roys wanted to do it. 

He sank into his chair and waited. 

All too soon there was a pounding on his door, frantic and loud. 

“Come!” He called, and the door flung open. 

“Sir,” this man he knew, Steven, who was several years older than Tom, and seemed to resent his sudden rise in power, even if he never acted on it. For all Tom cared, he could have the damn ship after this voyage. Tom didn’t want it.

“What?” Tom pushed himself up, “What is it?”

“It’s pirates,” Steven said.

Tom shut his eyes. He’d never actually been on a ship boarded by pirates before. When he was younger, some captains had tossed cannon balls back and forth, but the only interactions had come from a great distance, either safe on the deck of his own ship, or in the crowd at an execution. 

“Red or black?” Tom asked. 

It was a common theme among them all. Tom had heard the stories in taverns and pubs. A black flag meant that lives might be spared. Red meant that if fighting were to break out, then quite the opposite would be true. 

“Black,” Steven said, and Tom could practically feel the relief wash over him, “They’re close sir. What do we do?”

Tom ripped the drawer open and tucked his pistol away, “I suppose we go and kill some pirates.”


	2. negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship is boarded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think it's important that you know that i'm very much picturing pride and prejudice era, sideburns, and regency era clothes matt as tom for this fic. mostly cause i think he's real cute in that and it's closer to the right time period than succession is.

It was a fiasco on the deck. People shouted back and forth, ran past him to get to the cannons, to arm themselves. Someone handed him his spyglass again and he looked out, though he hardly needed to. The other ship was, without a doubt, that of pirates. The ominous black flag hung limply in the still air-- it wasn’t as if it needed to move. Tom knew well enough what the skull and bones looked like. 

The ship was still too far out to make out any of the features of those on board, but Tom could see people rushing back and forth-- doing likely what his own crew was doing. They were going to be boarded and Tom felt sick. 

“What are we going to do?” Steven asked, “Captain.”

Tom swallowed, “We can’t outrun them.”

“Obviously.”

“We’ll have to fight them,” Tom said, as much as he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t have bet on his crew against the vengeful and barbaric tactics of the pirates. In fact, Tom thought they could very well all die, “Or negotiate. Get down to the cannons.”

Tom returned to looking at the ship. He searched for a name, for anything that might indicate who they were about to be boarded-- and hopefully not slaughtered by-- but the name, _The Dark Stag_ meant nothing to him. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. At least with the famous-- or rather the infamous ships-- the captain had a reputation to precede him. 

The black flag was marginally better. If they surrendered, it was likely they’d be left alone, Or at least left _alive._ Maybe it made Tom a coward, but the idea of staying alive though some kind of negotiation was much preferable to the alternative. Shiv would probably be able to get Logan to accept the financial loss if it meant Tom’s body wasn’t fish food at the bottom of the ocean. 

The pirates inched closer. Tom could hear them shouting orders back and forth. He stood and gripped the edge of his own ship and watched them. His knuckles were white from his tight grip on the wood. 

“You think we can negotiate with the pirates sir?” someone asked to his left. He didn’t bother looking to see who it was. The idea of taking his eyes off the other ship was too horrible. What if he looked away and something happened? It wasn’t that he cared deeply for the crew and cargo of this ship, but they were _his_ responsibility in the end. If this ended badly, it would be on his hands. 

“We will make a very good attempt,” Tom said firmly, “We will trade what we have to for the safety and wellbeing of the ship and her crew.”

Perhaps that was the cowards way out. But Tom knew it was going to come to this from the moment the ship was spotted on the horizon. They could have never outrun a pirate ship-- not when they were built for speed, they could never fight off a horde of pirates-- not with their military issued weapons and Navy taught defense skills. From the moment the ship appeared, Tom could feel death inching closer, just across the waves. 

Reaching out a bony hand to snatch him and drag him down below the water. 

He shook his head to clear it. 

Tom opened his mouth to give an order, but it was gone from his head with the thunderous boom of a canon from the enemy ship. He nearly lost his footing, and if he hadn’t been gripping the ship so hard he might have fallen flat on his ass. 

“We’ve been hit!” someone shouted. 

“Return fire,” Tom ordered, and the owner of the voice-- one of the younger men on the crew, gaped at him, “Well? Why are you standing there like you’ve got no brain in your head? Relay that order.”

“Sir yes sir!” he saluted and scampered off. Tom whipped his head back around. There were pirates climbing over the walls of their own ship now, and it was only a matter of time before they were boarded. Tom ducked as another cannon was fired, hitting the deck ten feet or so away after sailing over his head. 

All hell had broken loose. 

And Tom felt like someone had frozen him to the spot. His feet refused to move, his hands refused to unclench their grasp.

Somebody was yelling for him, but the words were muddled and distant, like they came from underwater or halfway across a city. They were disabling his ship so they could board it. He’d never been able to practically taste death like this before. 

The fighting was quick and useless. They were hopelessly outnumbered, at least two to one, and two large and burly men had hunted him down, asked if he was the captain, and then dragged him to be presented to their own captain. 

There was blood on the deck, ash and Tom’s boots left marks as he was ushered forward. They’d handcuffed him, too tight, and there was little hope of escaping both of their grasps. 

The pirate captain was dressed in fine clothes, though his boots were scuffed, and the white on his shirt was more of a dull grey at this point. His jacket was a fine material though, and in reasonably good shape. 

He looked older than Tom, by the grey in his hair and beard, and the lines around his eyes. Not Logan’s age, but older than himself still. 

“You’re the commander?” the pirate said, raising a single eyebrow in what Tom thought was probably mild disbelief, “You?”

“I am the captain and commander of the _Brightstar,_ ” Tom said firmly, “This ship belongs to one of the richest men in the British Empire. Take it at your own peril.”

Where this courage had come from, Tom didn’t know. Perhaps if he made an effort, then he couldn’t say he hadn’t tried when Logan found out what had happened. The boarding may have been unavoidable, but there was room here to play. Room to prove himself as a capable sailor, a capable _man._

All the pirates within earshot laughed, and Tom felt himself redden.

“I’m sure we can strike up some kind of arrangement,” the captain said, “I’m a reasonable man. I’ll take your cargo, and let you live and let your ship limp back to London as is. Those are my terms.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t necessarily like them.”

The captain smirked, “You’ve a tongue on you I see. Take care I don’t cut it out.”

Tom gulped. 

“Who’s this rich man?” the captain asked, “You surely don’t mean yourself?”

“This ship is the personal property of Logan Roy. I’m sure even _you_ know that name,” Tom said. The metal of the handcuffs was starting to hurt, and his nose burned from all the smoke. 

The captain froze, and for a moment, Tom wondered if he’d actually played his hand correctly. If it had actually benefited him for once. 

But the toothy grin on the pirate’s face said otherwise.

“Logan Roy you say?”

“That’s right. He doesn’t take kindly to those who interfere with his money. He won’t be pleased about this at all. We’re meant to be in the New World in a month or so. We’re _expected._ ”

“Plans have changed boys!” the captain hollered. Several pirates paused what they were doing to listen. Tom tried to grab at the glimmer of hope he’d been presented with.

“Logan Roy,” the man shook his head and laughed, “What’re the odds.”

Tom frowned, and his stomach flipped. He suddenly didn’t feel very hopeful any more.

“Take the cargo,” the captain shouted, “Kill the crew. Burn the ship.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’ve altered the terms of our negotiation,” he shrugged, “Be grateful I don’t alter them further.”

Something hit in on the back of the head, hard, and he felt himself hit the deck, saw stars, and then nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas to those celebrating! merry friday to those who aren't! if you caught the star wars reference in this, you get a gold star for the day


	3. on board the stag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom meets a pirate who's maybe not that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't promise daily updates, though i have several days worth of chapters written already, mostly because i have several days off of work

Tom woke up with the worst headache he’d ever had. He gently pressed the spot on the back of his head, which was tender, and still bloody. He pushed himself up off the cot and looked around. His wrists were raw from the handcuffs, though they’d let him out of them at some point. He rubbed one gently, and found it sore and red. 

He didn’t need much light-- which was good, since his only source was a single dim lantern-- to see he’d been thrown in a cell. The cot was probably the best he’d get for a while. Maybe ever again. They would get whatever it was they wanted when they kept him alive, and then throw him over the side of the ship. 

Death was gaining on him even faster now. Soon it would catch up and he would be powerless to stop it. How long did pirates let you live?

He heard footsteps, heard a quiet voice speaking and he forced himself to sit up. If the captain was coming to question him, he was not going to be lying down like he was ill. His head pounded, and for a moment his vision was blurry, but he managed to keep his stomach still, and in a moment, the world righted itself. 

But it wasn’t the captain at all. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. 

It was a younger man, probably younger than him, but not by all too much. He had black hair, and was maybe even taller than Tom, who was the tallest in his family. He wasn’t dressed as nicely as the captain, which led Tom to believe he probably wasn’t very high up in the chain of command. Besides, why send the higher ups to visit the prisoner? 

He balanced a plate in one hand, opened up the cell door, and slid in, closing it up behind him. 

“You’re not armed,” he said, “So don’t pretend otherwise.”

Tom felt his jacket and discovered that was true. They’d taken his pistol and compass, and a quick glance around the room showed there was nothing stronger than the lantern on the wall to use to defend himself, but he wasn’t sure his legs would let him stand.

“Supper,” the man explained, though it was fairly obvious this was his meal, “Before you meet with the captain.”

Tom stared at him as he set the plate down on the barrel, using it as a makeshift table. 

“What is it?” Tom asked, his voice rough and hoarse. It didn’t look much like food at all, and despite the fact the man had called it _supper_ he found that difficult to believe. 

“Bread and hard cheese. You’re a prisoner after all.”

Tom frowned, and picked the loaf up. It was nearly as hard as a rock, and he took a small bite. When it did not shatter all his teeth in his mouth, he took another bite. 

“Am I going to die?” Tom asked. 

“I don’t know,” the man said, shrugging, “The captain doesn’t share his plans with me. It might be the last meal you get for a while. I’d savor it if I were you.”

Tom took another bite. It didn’t sit well in his nervous stomach. The man watched him curiously, head cocked a bit to one side. Like he was an exhibit in a zoo, or a painting on the wall.

“What happened to my ship? To my crew?”

“The ship is likely no more than a husk at the bottom of the ocean by now. The crew?” he shook his head and if Tom didn’t know better, he’d say the man was almost remorseful, “Davy Jones’ locker I’d imagine.”

“Then why in God’s name am I still alive?”

He shrugged, “Ransom perhaps? I don’t know.”

Tom wondered if Logan would pay it. 

He’d never got the impression that Logan cared very much for him, but Shiv did-- and he’d never hoped so much for something to be true as he did at that very moment-- and he often at least listened when she spoke. It was possible she’d be able to talk him into paying the ransom. But it was also possible she wouldn’t be able to. That Logan would reply and tell the pirates to do as they liked with him.

Maybe he deserved to go down with his crew. Shouldn’t the captain go down with his ship? Wasn’t that part of the natural order of things? He thought about Steven, and the desire for a ship to command. Thought about Harry-- the name came to him suddenly and firmly-- who Tom thought was no more than a child. All those lives, gone, like that. And for him to be allowed to exist, even for just another day? It seemed deeply unfair. Criminal. 

“Maybe just wants to know something and then he’ll kill you,” he shrugged casually, like it wasn’t Tom’s death he was discussing, “I really don’t know.”

“Are you my own personal guard?” Tom asked. The cheese looked even more unappetizing than the bread, so he left it be. It was more of a weapon than food anyway, but he didn’t imagine it would work very well to take on the entire pirate ship and escape. And even if it was, what then? He jumped over and swam home? He’d be lucky to live two minutes in the water, “I can’t imagine he’s very worried about my escaping.”

“You’re supposed to eat, and then I’m to bring you to the Captain’s Quarters. I’d hurry if I were you. He really doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I got that impression,” Tom muttered, “But if I’m to die, then I should have my last meal in peace, on my own terms. What’s your name anyway?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to have a whole conversation with you.”

“My name is Thomas. Tom, if you like,” he ripped off another piece of the bread. It was grainy and dry, but since he wasn’t sure when, exactly, he’d last eaten, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought, “Thomas Wambsgans. Isn’t it only fair that a prisoner knows the names of the men who are going to kill him? Isn’t that just?”

As if Tom had any right to be asking what was and was not just.

“Greg. Don’t tell the captain I told you like this or it’ll be my head. Are you finished?”

Tom nodded, and stood up carefully. When he didn’t immediately collapse, he braced himself, “I’m ready.”

What, exactly, he had to be ready for he didn’t know. 

But he was.


	4. captain's quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets his very first pirate interrogation

They paraded Tom in front of the captain’s desk, and Greg slid in the room before shutting the door behind him with a distinct thud. Tom glanced around and took in all the maps tacked to the walls, the weapons on display, the papers and documents stacked on the desk. The captain had his hands folded on the desk, a ruby ring glimmering on one finger. No doubt loot from some other victory at sea. 

Tom’s compass sat in front of his hands, and before Tom could say anything, hands forced him into the other chair. He thought it was the same men who had captured him on the ship, but he couldn’t be certain. And it didn’t really matter so long as they were big and strong. They could do the job just as well as those men had.

“Nice meal?” the captain asked, laughing at his own joke. 

Tom didn’t reply. 

“What’s your name?” the captain asked.

“What’s it to you?”

“Careful,” he said, with a tone that reminded Tom of the edge of a knife, “Remember what I said about that tongue of yours.”

“Thomas. Thomas Wambsgans.”

“Well Mr. Wambsgans,” the captain pulled the compass towards him, opening and closing it several times, “I’m Captain Hirsh. I’m in charge around here. So I’m going to ask you several questions, and you’re going to answer them. You’ll find I can be very agreeable if you behave. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Shall we begin? How do you know Logan Roy?”

He didn’t want to invoke Shiv’s name here. The thought of these madmen knowing about Shiv was absolutely too horrible to imagine. 

“I work for him,” Tom replied, figuring that it was technically true, “How else do you think I’d end up in command of a ship?”

“Then why do you have this?” he held up the compass, “This is a Roy family artifact if you will. I don’t imagine Logan Roy gives it out to any old sailor under his employ.”

“He likes me?” Tom offered. Greg wandered closer to the captain’s desk and peeked at the compass. There had to be a connection between this captain and the Roys. How else would he know all this? Why else would the mention of Logan’s name cause him to change his mind so quickly?

“Alright,” the captain stood up with a huff, like Tom was doing no more than inconveniencing him, “We’ll do this _your_ way.”

Tom was about to ask what that meant when the men hoisted him up under his arms, and half dragged him out of the quarters. He could hardly get his footing enough to walk with them, and at the speed they were walking, it was impossible anyway. 

Up the stairs they went, out into the sunlight of the main deck. The brightness hurt his eyes after so much time in the dark, and people practically leaped out of their way the moment they saw them coming, like they might be run over if they stayed where they were. Tom wouldn't actually put it past the captain and his men to do that.

“Captain are you sure-” Greg said, but he was cut off by a look from the captain himself and he fell back several paces like he’d been hit. 

When they reached the plank-- Tom had never seen one in real life before, and he briefly thought he might lose all the bread in his stomach at the sight-- the men knocked him to the ground, pressed his face over the edge, and the captain knelt down so they were almost eye to eye. The wood was hard in his cheek, and though he tried as hard as he could to shake them off, he quickly realized he was stuck. He could just see the ocean below, the waves crashing into the hull. The air smelled heavily of salt, so heavy he wondered if he could taste it. That is, if he could taste anything other than his own fear.

“I am going to try this again,” Captain Hirsch said, his voice eerily calm and firm, “How do you know Logan Roy?”

“I’m engaged to his daughter,” Tom said.

“See? Was that so difficult?”

Tom tried to shake his head. He figured the captain got the general idea. 

“And she’s the one who gave you this?” he held up the compass once more.

“It’s just a compass.”

“She’s the one who gifted this to you. Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Tom bit out. He was almost certain they’d pushed him closer to the edge. The water somehow seemed closer, jeering at him.

(Calling to him.)

Death was right on his heels it seemed. The ocean was calling to him. The faces of his crew, of all those lost at sea seemed to be staring up at him from the briny depths. They were beckoning him to even things up. To join them. 

To do the right thing.

“I told you I could be very agreeable,” Captain Hirsh smiled and stood up. He tucked the compass away in his jacket, “Let him up.”

Tom was hoisted to his feet and he took several steps back, in case they decided to push him over the edge. He held out a hand, to see how shaky he was, and then clenched his fists so no one would be able to see. He drew several shaky breaths, trying to calm his heart and wondered if it was possible for one to explode from something as frightening as that. 

“You understand now that I do not like to play games.”

“Yes.” One word answers seemed easiest. Tom didn’t trust himself with much more.

“Boy!” Captain Hirsch shouted, and Greg ran over, “Deal with Mr. Wambsgans here. I won’t need him for a week at least. Find him somewhere to sleep, and find him somewhere to be useful. I don’t want him underfoot, and I’m tired of dealing with him.”

“Yes sir.”

They both watched the captain and his henchmen head back below deck. Slowly the other crew members resumed their work and came out of their hiding spots. Several of them looked at him with pity, and Tom straightened his back and glared back. He didn’t want them knowing he’d been scared out of his damn mind. 

“You should have just answered his questions,” Greg said quietly, “He can be quite nasty.”

“I see that,” Tom replied.

“I’ll show you somewhere you can sleep if you like.”

“I’m not back to my cell?”

“I don’t think he’s worried about you escaping,” Greg chuckled, “Where are you going to go?”

“I could jump over the side,” Tom nodded in the direction of the sea, “Off myself.”

Greg looked, almost longingly at the horizon, “I won’t stop you. But come on. You must be tired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the captain's literally a disney villain


	5. galley duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finds out his place on board.

Greg had sent him off to help in the galley the next morning without any more of an explanation than “ _You said you didn’t like the food, so now you can help._ ” But Tom wasn’t complaining. The captain rarely made an appearance in the galley, unless he was coming to refill his flasks, or hunting for Greg, who seemed to be his favorite one to shout at. Tom assumed he was higher up on the chain of command. Why else would he get so much attention from the captain, even if it was negative attention.

The cook was an old man who told Tom to call him John-- he wasn't sure that was actually his name, or just what he went by-- he was short and stout and wore an eye patch over his left eye. He wasn’t cruel though, and let Tom do mostly as he pleased, so long as the meals were ready for breakfast and supper, and so long as he made himself scarce if and when the captain came downstairs. 

The food was, objectively, not terrible. It was mostly bland or salty. Dried meats, hard breads and cheeses and beans were the most abundant ingredients. John said they’d recently made port, and were able to pick up some fruit and vegetables, but those would soon be gone. Tom swiped a few oranges when John wasn’t looking and hid them in his quarters the same night. He wasn’t sure _why_ exactly, only that it felt good to have some miniscule upper hand, and because he wanted something one of these days that the captain didn’t have. 

More than anything, he kept his mouth shut and his head down. They made small talk when they cooked sometimes, but Tom was fine with the silence. He ate alone, spent his time alone, did his work alone. He’d rather be alone than try to befriend any of the barbarians that worked on this ship.

Save for maybe Greg. 

Greg wasn’t too unlikeable, especially compared to the rest of them. He sometimes smiled at Tom when he dumped breakfast on his plate, and Tom often saw him wandering by himself after a proper chewing out from the captain. The others looked at him with a strange mix of envy and pity. 

Tom couldn't understand what in God’s name all _that_ was about. He was missing something the others knew. That was understandable, given his spot as a prisoner. He hadn’t forgotten who he was, no matter how the cook treated him, or the nice enough accommodation Greg had given him. He was a prisoner on a pirate ship. He could not be stupid enough to ever forget that.

“Captain wants to speak to you,” John grumbled, coming back down the stairs. Tom wiped off his hands and nodded, “Need an escort?”

“I’m sure I can find my way,” Tom slipped past him. He didn’t dawdle, but made his way to see the captain. Captain Hirsch didn’t like to be kept waiting after all.

He was let in by one of the burly men-- this one was named James, the older of the two. Tom would have sworn they were twins, but he could tell them apart by Jim’s scar across his face, and Fred’s, the brother’s, shorter stature. 

“Mr. Wambsgans, come in,” Captain Hirsch said. Unsurprisingly, Greg loitered in the corner, over what Tom thought looked like an old and yellowed map, “I need your assistance on something. Greg, bring the maps would you.”

Greg piled papers into his arms, and then two of them followed the captain out onto the deck. Tom briefly thought that they were going to threaten to throw him overboard again, but Jim had remained behind, and he didn’t think the captain could do it. 

“This,” Captain Hirsch took out Tom’s compass and held it up, “Is why I need you.”

Tom bit back a comment about the captain’s apparent inability to use a compass; just because he didn’t think Captain Hirsch could toss him over the side of the ship, didn’t mean that the captain wouldn’t make him eat those words. 

“I don’t follow,” Tom said instead. 

Captain Hirsch motioned him over and popped the compass open. 

“What direction is that?” Captain Hirsh asked. 

“West,” Tom replied, “The sun’s setting.”

“Right. What direction does this say it is?”

Tom looked at the compass needle, which was spinning wildly around, occasionally pausing on a direction, for half a second at most, before returning to spinning. 

“It’s always worked for me,” Tom said quickly, like he might get in trouble for the broken compass. 

Captain Hirsch handed it off without a word and Tom looked down. The needle turned, and firmly settled on west. He gaped at it. 

“I don’t understand,” he said again. 

Captain Hirsch snapped his finger and Greg handed over one of the maps. He unfurled it in front of the two of them. It looked like something out of a story book, with detailed illustrations of sea monsters and mermaids decorating it. Captain Hirsch pointed at an island east of what he thought was Georgia. It was unnamed, and as far as Tom was aware, no such island even existed in that exact spot. 

“I need to get here,” he said, “And I need you to get me there, with this. This compass is the only compass that will lead to this island. And you are the only person who can use this compass. Have I finally gotten through to you?”

“Why only me?”

“I don’t suppose you need to know that. Take Greg and plot a course. I presume you’re capable of that?”

“I am.”

“Greg?”

“Yes sir?” Greg took a slight step forward, and peeked out from his pile of papers and maps.

“ _C’est ta dernière chance. Ne me laisse pas tomber. Je suis fatigué d'être déçu de toi_ ”

“ _Je sais._ ”

It was French, Tom was fairly certain, though his own French was mediocre at best.Whatever it was, Captain Hirsch didn’t want Tom to hear it. That was worth a mental note, though he didn’t know exactly what it meant. He could gather every piece of information available but there was nothing to do with it. 

“What’s going on?” Tom hissed, when the captain left them. 

“It’s nothing,” Greg said, nervously glancing after the captain, “Come to my quarters. We’ll get to work on this.”

“Inviting me to your quarters Greg? I knew pirates were loose but this is very forward. I’m a gentleman.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He’d been used to teasing Shiv like this, and maybe he’d forgotten his situation for a moment too long. He didn’t really think Greg would punish him for it though. He wasn’t sure why, it was just a feeling.

Honestly, he didn’t even know why he said it in the first place.

Greg sputtered, reddened, and shook his head, “I meant for the maps.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood a bit,” Tom smiled, “I’m only teasing you. I could very well be going mad.”

Greg chuckled, “You forget your place here don’t you?”

“Well the captain can’t very well kill me,” Tom held up the compass, “I’m useful.”

“No, he can’t kill you. But don’t cross him. I mean it. You may not walk the plank, but you don’t need your hands to look at a compass,” Greg said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice, “I mean it. Don’t cross the captain Tom. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Why?”

Greg smiled, “It’s nice to have someone on board he despises more than me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please forgive the sin of using google translate for the french. i know it's unacceptable but *waves hand vaguely*


	6. the island with no name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom plots a course.

Tom followed Greg back to his quarters. They honestly weren’t much bigger than his own. He cleared the table and set all the maps down. Tom stole a few glances around. It looked distinctly lived in. Jackets and shirts were flung over the desk chair. A pair of worn boots sat against the bed. Tom wandered to the bedside table and picked up the golden frame; in it small portrait of a woman and child 

“Who’s this?” Tom asked, holding up the frame. 

Greg looked up at the question, “My mother.”

The boy must have been Greg, though he looked only ten or so. The woman was very beautiful, and she was smiling. Her brown hair was piled up on her head. Whoever made it had paid attention to the detail on both of their faces. It was done with love and attention. And the fact that Greg kept it on the bedside table meant that it was very special to him. He never considered pirates as people with families and mothers before, but this little picture made Greg seem just the same as him. He had a mother, had a father and family. He was a human too. 

(He had to remind himself that Greg’s crew had killed _his_ crew. That the blood covered all their hands.)

“She’s very pretty,” Tom said. He briefly thought that he might never see his own mother again, felt a pang of sadness, and he pushed the thought away, “Where is she?”

“Canada,” Greg said, “I haven’t seen her in a very long time.”

“Why not?”

Greg frowned, “I’m not going to tell you my life story Tom.”

“I didn’t ask for it _Greg_ ,” Tom shrugged, “So where are we meant to plot a course to?”

Greg waved him over and flattened the map on the desk. He pointed again to the unnamed island. Tom had never been the best at reading maps, but it looked like it would be a week or so of sailing off the coast of Georgia to reach it. Maybe two weeks if the weather wasn’t good. It didn’t look very big either. If you weren’t looking for it, you might never see it. 

“What’s so special about the little chunk of rock there? Gold? Mermaids? The Fountain of Youth?” He wasn’t going to believe any of the foolishness about the compass, and whatever foolishness was surely meant to be on the unnamed bit of land. 

“I think that perhaps it’s the answer to a large host of problems,” Greg shook his head, but his gaze was distant. Whatever was at that island-- or whatever was _supposed_ to be there, was something Greg wanted too. He might not have been as obvious as the captain, but Tom could tell easily, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a fool’s quest.”

“Are you going to explain a Goddamn thing?” Tom asked. He was growing increasingly frustrated with it all. It wasn’t like Tom could _do_ anything with the information. Who was he going to tell? They were months away from London, and his entire crew was dead. 

“You wouldn’t even believe me,” Greg shook his head, “Besides, telling you isn’t worth gettin’ myself keelhauled by the captain.”

“He’s a cruel old bastard isn’t he?”

“That’s no way to talk about the captain,” Greg’s voice was firm, but it sounded like a line he’d said a thousand times before. And perhaps he had. Captain Hirsch was a terrible person, and maybe he was not the first person to say that. 

“I’m not a crewman. I’m a prisoner. I’d imagine if anybody should have a complaint, it should be me.”

Greg shook his head and sighed, “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Why does he hate you so much?” Tom pried. He pulled the chair out and sat, digging around in the drawer for a quill and ink. Greg shooed him away and brought them over, “He seems to have a particular dislike for you.”

“It’s complicated,” Greg said, which was not an answer, “Do you know how to plot?”

“I’m not an imbecile,” he took the quill and smoothed out the map, laying a clean one of the Atlantic next to it. It looked like a straight shot, but they’d have to be careful not to sail too far north. It would probably be smarter to sail south, towards the Caribbean and then head north from there. If they sailed too far north, it would not only delay their trip, but Captain Hirsch would probably think he did it on purpose and use him for target practice, “You know when I’m not in New York to deliver that cargo, Logan’s going to find out. He’ll know something has happened.”

“I don’t know what he can do about it though,” Greg replied, leaning over his shoulder to watch him work. Tom could feel Greg’s hand on his shoulder, his touch feather-light. It made him feel… something, but he left that alone for now. He could deal with it later, “Logan. There are no survivors but you, and it’s not like you can send a letter now can you?”

“He’ll be displeased,” Tom said. He didn’t know why he was arguing with Greg about this, especially since Greg was right, “He doesn’t like the loss of cargo.”

“Oh? And how’s he feel about the loss of his daughter’s fiancé?” Greg said.

Tom eyed him, “What’s it like to be so Goddamn smug all the time? It must get frightfully tiring. Though I can’t imagine it’s as tiring as being berated by the old captain’s tirades on a daily basis.”

The cruelness came easy to him, and he thought perhaps Greg looked slightly hurt by it, but he didn’t want to care. It was his only defense at this point. He felt like a trapped animal, who could only bare its teeth and growl at it’s captors. A poor, trapped, hurt, and scared animal. Growling at its captor was all it could do.

Was all Tom could do.

And the fact of the matter was that he found himself liking Greg well enough. He wasn’t as distant as the others, had never so much as thrown a mean glance Tom’s way. In fact, if things were different, Tom might want to be friends with him. Like Tom, he had the air of someone who had grown up on and around ships, meaning they probably had plenty in common. 

But things were _not_ different. 

He worked on the map in silence, broken only by a demand for Greg to fill up the ink or get him some paper to blot with. Greg compiled without any argument. Tom had a feeling he was used to doing things without asking questions.


	7. l'appel de vide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg share a late night conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (tw for minor suicidal thoughts in this one! it's light and vague but if that bothers you be cautious!)

After giving the captain he plotted course he’d been dismissed and told that he wouldn’t be needed until they were closer. He returned to his galley duty, which was the same as before, but now he shared strained words with Greg, who avoided his eye when they passed each other. Tom knew he’d upset him back in his quarters, but the problem was that he cared so much about it.

He hadn’t realized that Greg’s small smiles and gentle offers of help were something that he missed until they were gone. He was so desperate for anything resembling friendship, resembling real human contact that even the bare minimum from Greg was enough. 

But now even that was gone. Tom was a thousand miles from home, he would probably never see his family again, Logan would never know he didn’t abscond with the cargo, Shiv would probably marry someone else, his parents would think him lost at sea, Captain Hirsch would probably kill him once his usefulness ran out, and now Greg, the only person who had shown him a shred of decency would hardly look at him. 

All in all, Tom was pretty sure he’d fucked it up entirely.

He took to wandering the deck at night. He couldn’t sleep anyway, and the silence of the sea at night was almost reassuring. Familiar, if nothing else. There was a skeleton crew that late at night, and no one bothered him too much. 

Tonight was cool and cloudy. He could feel rain beginning to fall, though hardly enough to cause him to go back inside. Even if it started to storm, he would probably stay outside. The cool air was a welcome feel after his stuffy cabin. 

“Well, as I live and breathe. Can’t sleep either Greg?”

Greg glanced over. The lit butt of his cigarette was a bright beacon in the dark, “Hello Tom. What are you doing up this late?”

“The same as you I’d imagine,” he stood next to Greg and propped his elbows on the edge of the ship. The ocean was almost black in the night, and Tom thought it looked like it went on forever and ever. If he were to jump in he would simply fall for the rest of eternity. 

“Do you ever think about jumping?” Tom asked, “It looks like I would fall forever.”

“ _L’appel de vide_ ,” Greg said, and once again, Tom got the impression French came naturally to him, something in his pronunciation. Perhaps it was even his mother tongue. He took a long drag of his cigarette and drew a shaky breath.

Tom got a strong whiff of tobacco. “What does that mean?”

“The call of the void.”

“Oh,” Tom replied, not sure what to say. The phrase just made _sense_ , “Can I get a drag?”

Greg handed the cigarette over wordlessly. His eyes never left the sea, “We’ll be at port in another two weeks or so. Maybe a bit more if the weather doesn’t change.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere off the coast of the colonies. The Caribbean maybe. I don’t know.”

“He doesn’t tell you that much.”

“Doesn’t _trust_ me that much,” Greg said, “Can I have that back?”

Tom handed it over, “What does a man have to do to get a drink this time of night?”

Greg reached over and handed a flask to Tom, “It’s strong.”

Of course the pirate always had a drink within his reach. If Tom was reading a story he might have laughed at the absurdness, but it didn’t seem that humorous anymore. Nothing seemed humorous anymore. 

“I’m sure I can handle a little alcohol,” Tom said confidently, uncorking it. He sniffed it, thought it smelled alright, and took a long sip. 

It burned like fire going down, and he turned away to cough, all while Greg laughed at him. He shoved the flask back at Greg and tried to catch his breath again. He tried to smack at Greg who took a step back out of his reach.

“Well I warned you didn’t I?”

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

“Rum,” Greg smiled, and, as if to prove his point, took a very long sip and showed no reaction to it whatsoever, “Albeit probably not the liquor you’re probably used to in London. What do you drink there? Wine the king makes himself?”

“That’s shit that is,” Tom shook his head, “I can appreciate a fine alcohol, I’m not unrefined. But that’s pure _shit_.”

Greg laughed again, “This is all we’ve got. We can get you something nicer when we make port. Something for your _refined_ and delicate tongue.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “Can I ask something?”

“Only if I can ask something in return.”

“I accept your conditions,” Tom returned to Greg’s side. He stole another glance at the beckoning waves, “What’s on this island the captain needs to find so desperately?”

“A way to break the curse,” Greg said, “Did you know you were smuggling for Logan Roy?”

Tom was taken aback, “What curse?”

“I answered your question. You have to answer mine now. That’s the agreement. I don’t change my mind as quickly as the captain does.”

Tom sighed, “I knew he was doing things that were… less than legal. But I did what I was asked. Besides, you’re a pirate, smuggling is the least of your crimes.”

“I never called myself a saint,” Greg took another sip of his drink, “I was just wondering if you knew. You see a little… proper for all that sort of thing. No offense of course.”

“Second question,” Tom ignored him, “What curse?”

“Family curse,” Greg said slowly. Tom knew he was choosing his words carefully. How much could he give up to answer the question, and how much could he keep to himself, “From his wife. He heard from someone somewhere that this island might have the way to break a curse like that.”

Greg was hiding something from him. Tom could see it in his face, even in the dim light, but he wasn’t sure how to get it from him. Like, for example, what the curse did?

“Does it make him a bigger son of a bitch than he already is?”

Greg laughed, but didn’t comment on Tom’s question, which had been only half joking. Tom didn’t _believe_ in curses, but if there was a curse, who’s to say the captain wasn’t made worse by it?

“It’s late,” Greg said finally, ending the silly game. He put out the cigarette with his boot and smiled tightly, “I’m going to try to go to sleep.”

“ _Bonne nuit,_ ” Tom said, sure he was horribly mispronouncing it, “Sorry, that’s almost all my French. My teachers never held much hope for me.”

Greg smiled at the effort at least, “Goodnight Tom.”


	8. making port

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom formulates a plan

It was true, that while Tom loved being on the sea as much as the next sailor, he was always grateful to step onto dry land, and so when the captain had told him he’d be allowed to accompany the group, he jumped at the chance. He thought, perhaps, it was a reward for his good behavior. Captain Hirsch wanted to show he wasn’t, entirely, heartless. 

“You’re in charge of him,” Captain Hirsh told Greg, pointing at Tom, “and you know the limits.”

Greg nodded, “I know.”

“Jim’s in charge of restocking the supplies, but I need you to take _Lord_ Wambsgans over there and go to the tavern we went to last time. Do you remember it?”

“Yes.”

“The barkeep has a journal I need. I’ve arranged it all already. You’re to pay him, and bring it to me. Don’t fool around, and be back by sundown. Are you capable of that, or do you need a chaperone?”

“I can do it,” Greg said, an edge to his tone. The captain glared at him, and Greg shrunk back, but the captain did nothing more but shoo them away. Tom relished in the solid ground, in the sights and sounds of a port city. It was no London, that was for sure. For one thing, it was so humid his shirt was sticking to his back within the first ten minutes. But he’d take it. He’d take anything that wasn’t the ship.

“What’s in this journal?” Tom asked casually.

“I don’t know. Probably curse-breaking rituals,” Greg replied. They waded through the crowd of sailors and merchants. A trio of ladies in fine clothes giggled when they passed, glancing at the two of them over their fans. He watched Greg blush. 

“You don’t look so well,” Tom said. Actually, Greg looked like he’d just stepped _onto_ a ship-- and a rocking one at that-- and not off of one, “Are you ill?”

“I’m fine,” Greg said stiffly, and Tom thought he looked like he was going to be sick, “Let’s just finish this shit up.”

But he was pretty sure that Greg wasn’t fine. That he was deliberately keeping whatever was wrong to himself. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Greg said, “Just follow me and keep close. It’s crowded.”

Tom _had_ noticed that. It was hard to miss.

Actually, he thought it might be very easy to slip away in the crowd. Greg was a step or two ahead of him and not watching his every move. Like there was an element of trust between them. Maybe it was Greg who had forgotten Tom’s place this time. He hung back for a half a second, and Greg hardly noticed. 

Just now wasn’t the time, but Tom was hopeful for the first time in weeks. Maybe months. Frankly he’d lost track of time at this point. All his good behavior had paid off, and so he’d been allowed to set foot on a port, albeit half a world away from anybody that he knew, penniless, with nothing but the clothes on his back. Likely, the captain had thought the possibility of his successful escape was practically none, and so it would be safe to let him out.

Tom needed to prove the captain wrong. 

He caught up with Greg, who merely glanced his way briefly before turning away again. 

“You really don’t look well,” Tom said.

“It’ll pass,” Greg replied.

Tom could use this too. Whatever mystery ailment had taken over Greg when they stepped off the boat clearly bothered him, and took up a good portion of his attention. If Tom was smart, the crowds and Greg’s lack of attention would be the perfect storm. 

(Somewhere, buried inside him, he was deeply troubled by Greg’s mystery illness. He hadn’t appeared at all sick before, and most diseases didn’t randomly appear without any signs at all. Besides, Greg seemed to be familiar with it. But that needed to stay buried. He couldn’t go about caring when he was trying to make his great escape.)

“Where’s the tavern?” Tom asked. People passed by, carrying their wares or deep in conversation. He could easily blend into these people. In all likelihood, a good portion of them were probably pirates, and as much as he hated to admit it, Tom had started to look like a pirate. The crew had provided his new wardrobe, very unlike the fine things he’d left London with. 

“Just over there,” Greg pointed up ahead. A metal sign swung in the wind, and people streamed in and out. It was the biggest, and likely the most popular taven around. 

They walked in silence. Greg seemed to be measuring his steps, and even though Tom was perfectly healthy, he was glad to be in the dim light of the tavern and out of the sun. He trailed after Greg to the bar. 

“You don’t look so well,” the barkeep said. 

“It’s the heat,” Tom cut in. The last thing Tom needed was Greg drawing attention to them with his mystery ailment, “Would you mind getting him something cold?”

“It’s a scorcher out,” the barkeep said, accepting Tom’s explanation without much hesitation. He picked up a glass and poured a terrible looking liquor into it, “Got to be careful doncha?”

“Here,” Tom took it and placed it in Greg’s hands, “Drink this.”

“I’ll be fine in a little bit,” Greg said again. 

“Forgive me if I don’t think that’s true. You look like death warmed over.”

“You know seasickness?” Greg said. Tom watched his shaky hand pick the mug up and take a careful sip, “I get landsick.”

“I don’t think that’s a real thing.”

Greg waved his hand dismissively, “I’ll be fine. Let’s just get the journal and get out of here.”

He waved the bartender over and spoke in French. It was too quiet for Tom to catch much, and even so, he wouldn't have been able to translate it. But the barkeep understood just fine, because he nodded, and disappeared into the back.

“The drink helped,” Greg said, “The first half an hour or so is the worst usually.”

“I don’t get it.”

Greg pressed the mug to his forehead and shut his eyes, like the coldness felt good and perhaps it did, “I’ll tell you about it one of these days. But not now.”

“You’re sure you’ll be alright?” Tom confirmed, mostly to make himself feel better about what he was about to do. If he was going to abandon Greg, he needed to be certain Greg wasn’t going to keel over where he sat. 

“Uh huh. I’m already better. Seriously.”

“You think I could uh,” Tom hesitated, “You think I could go take a piss? I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” Greg said, and Tom knew that he really must have been feeling bad, not to insist on following the captain’s orders. Tom was taking advantage of him, that was true, but he would have been an idiot not to capitalize on this opportunity. It wasn’t his fault Greg had reverse seasickness. He should see a doctor or something.

He gave Greg’s arm a squeeze, “Buck up eh?”

And then he slipped through the pub crowd and back into the sun.


	9. escape attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom seizes the moment.

It took several precious, valuable, fleeting moments for Tom to realize he was, in fact, alone. That not a single crew member from the _Stag_ was around. That, when he wanted to, he could bolt. Find a friendly face and get a letter sent back to London. If he could just _tell_ Shiv and Logan what had happened, then maybe they could help somehow. It was the first time he’d been free of all of them in the months since the _Brightstar_ had gone down. In truth, it was the first time he was alone, with no one who knew him, who considered him their prisoner. 

He wasted another half second looking for Greg’s giant form in the crowd, to ensure he hadn’t followed him, but Tom couldn’t waste anymore time. He needed to get a letter mailed, needed to get far away as fast as he could. Needed to do something with his new freedom. And if he waited too long Greg would spot him, and he’d have wasted his opportunity. This was too important to waste. It was almost certain that he would never get another chance. 

Ducking into the first pub he spotted-- a dark and fairly disgusting little building-- he tried to ignore how his boots stuck to the sticky floor, tried to ignore the way the room smelled of salt air and unwashed people. It was out of sight and that’s what mattered. 

The place seemed popular among the locals, probably because it was cool and dark, and a refuge from the unending sun outside. His mind was racing, a hundred different strategies bouncing around all at once. 

He waded to the bar.

“Is there a postal office around here?”

The barkeep, who was cleaning a dirty glass with a dirtier rag, nodded, “About ten minutes north. Smack between the seamstress and a merchant who sells fish. Ye can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

He couldn’t waste time in one place. He should have been back by now, and though Greg’s reactions were probably delayed, he did not have forever to run. Greg would realize what he had done, and hunt him down. Sure, he thought Greg was nice enough, but Greg was a _pirate_ who served under a ruthless captain. Tom had no doubt he could find him.

He kept his head down and weaved through the crowd. It was the first time he had seen anyone besides the crew of the _Stag_ in months. It was as if he had forgotten that other people existed. There were children who raced by, women balancing babies on their hips and listening to the merchants sell their wares. He heard several different languages called back and forth, heard the laughter that a prisoner so rarely had the opportunity to have for himself. The crew, Tom thought, got along with each other all right, but he was a distinct outside. John was nice enough to him, but they had no reason to let him into their lives. When you lived under a tyrant, and the tyrant chose a new victim, it made the most sense to ignore him and let it happen. 

And what rights did Tom have? He was a prisoner.

_Had been_ a prisoner. Because now he had escaped. As soon as he got to the post office, he could let Shiv know he was alive, and then barter a place on a ship. He was qualified, that should work. Someone surely would hire him. It may take a long time to get back to London, but he’d be on the way. 

It was easy to find the docks. Part of his brain had paid close attention to the streets Greg led him through, but the docks had a distinct smell of salt air, and eventually, he could see the boats docks. It took everything in him not to run like a giddy school boy. That would cause attention though. And it was imperative that he remain in the background. 

Tom rounded the corner quickly and slammed right into someone. He opened his mouth to utter an apology, cursing his own inattention, when he decided then and there that God must have abandoned him. 

“The fancy man himself!” Jim said, “What are you doing all by yourself?”

It sounded indescribably threatening. Tom looked around, but there was Fred sauntering up, and Jim grabbed his upper arm. 

“I-”

Jim shook his head, and sneered-- Tom was reminded of the evil captor in the story book. Perhaps Tom _was_ the hero after all, only the hero wasn’t going to come out victorious. 

“Bet the Captian’ll won’t be too happy with this one,” Jim dragged him a few feet and laughed when Tom stumbled, “Where’s the boy?”

Tom shook his head. Truthfully, he didn’t know where Greg was now, so it wasn’t even entirely a lie to remain quiet, but some small part of him thought that it was better for _Greg_ that he remain silent. Why he thought this was still unclear.

He couldn’t think much over the pounding of his heart and his shaky breath. But he couldn’t afford to be distracted. His luck hadn’t all run out, not yet at least. It was only the two of them. And Tom thought he was probably much smarter than the two of them put together. Running into them had been a cruel twist of fate, but he couldn’t give in yet. He had to try every option. 

“Listen to me,” Tom said, “The Capitan cannot be paying you much. I will give you more money than you could dream of. Take me to London. My fiancée will be forever in your debt. _I_ will be forever in your debt.”

They both stared at him. Perhaps they hadn’t understood exactly what he was telling them? It seemed stupidly hopeful to think so, but hope was all Tom had these days and there hadn’t been much to go around. 

“I’m offering you money. You know who Logan Roy is? I am engaged to his daughter. He will pay you money if you bring me home,” He said slowly and firmly, hoping they might be able to cobble together enough coherent thinking to take the deal he was offering. 

“The fancy man is trying to bribe us,” Jim told Fred. Maybe Fred was the dafter of the two, “What do you think we should do ‘bout that?”

Fred smiled too. Pure evil. He wondered if they were going to attack him. If they were going to throw him into the ocean. 

“I say we outta give him as a present to the captain,” Fred said, “Captain won’t be pleased. No sir. He might even give us a raise if we bring you back.”

“I think so too,” Jim said, “He might just do.”

He took out his pistol, and smacked Tom right across the face. Not for the first time, Tom saw stars, and hit the ground, and saw nothing else.


	10. a secret is revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom learns that his actions have repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really made the captain a lil less of a disney villain and more of a _villain_ villain in this one

Tom woke up on the floor of the captain’s quarters, in a pile, like he’d been dumped there, which, all things considered, he probably had. He pushed himself off the floor with a groan. A glance out of the window told him they’d left the harbor and were back at sea. There was no way of knowing how much distance they had covered or how long he’d been out. The idiots must have dragged him back on board.

He tasted blood, but they hadn’t hurt him too bad. Greg looked at him as he stood, then returned his gaze back to the captain. He looked all healed from whatever had ailed him when they were in the town. 

(The tiny worry that Tom had buried was reassured at this. That it was apparently not some mortal affliction.)

Tom fully prepared himself for being held over the plank and shouted at, or drawn and quartered, or whatever draconian idea the captain came up with as punishment for his little escape attempt. 

Captain Hirsch was fuming. 

Tom half expected to see actual smoke coming off of him. He paced in front of the two of them in silence before stopping in front of Tom. Evidently, he was to first on the chopping block.

“When I have finished with you, I am going to kill you,” he said, “I thought perhaps I’d let you live. You’ve been behaving nicely, helping out, and keeping this one from bothering me. If I didn’t need you now I would tie you up and throw you over the edge of the boat, alive and screaming, after I cut each of your limbs from your body. If you do this again, I might do it anyway. Only I’ll wait until we come across a hungry pack of sharks.”

Tom nodded. He was fairly certain he had lost all ability to speak. 

“And _you,_ ” the captain turned on Greg, malice filling his voice, “It would appear that you cannot even follow the most basic of instructions. Perhaps I should have hired a dog instead. At least dogs do what you tell them.”

“I’m sorry,” Greg said, “I know I’ve disappointed you. It had been so long since I’d been on land that it was worse than it’s been in years.”

Captain Hirsch drew a deep breath, and struck Greg, right across the face, much to Tom’s, and apparently Greg’s surprise. Greg brought a hand up to his face and winced. Tom thought he could see blood leaking through his fingers. Tom winced slightly too. 

This was his fault. This was all his fault. Was he so stupid, so _selfish_ not to think that maybe his escape might backfire on the one charged with watching him? How blind was he? 

But the truth was Tom _was_ stupid. 

He’d thought that the Captain trusted Greg enough with his job. Thought that his escape would be successful. That whatever punishment Greg would receive, it wouldn’t matter, because Tom wouldn’t be around to see it. He’d been willing to give up Greg because he hasn’t expected, stupidly, to see the consequences of his actions. 

Whatever it was he thought, it wasn’t this.

Yes, he’d been selfish, but Tom thought his selfishness wouldn’t have mattered like this because he wouldn’t be around to see the repercussions. But did it matter? In the end, he’d been selfish, and that’s the word that rattled around his head while he stood there ready to take his punishment. 

“Everyday I think about how if I hadn’t fucked your whore of a mother, I’d never have been saddled with you. Every day I pray it’ll be the day I’m finally free of you.”

“My mother is not a whore,” Greg said firmly, though his voice was off from his hand covering his face, and maybe a broken nose. Tom wasn’t sure.

“Your mother _is_ a whore,” Captain Hirsch said, “A Goddamn whore who ruined my life twice over. The first time by marrying me, and giving me this curse, and the second time by giving me _you_.”

Several pieces fell into place at once. Tom looked between Greg and the captain. Between a son and his father. Now he could begin to see the similarities in their features. Everything Greg had said, about Tom not knowing the half of it made sense all the sudden.

“Get out of my sight,” he waved them both away, “I don’t want to see you until I ask for you. If you attempt to escape again, everything be damned, I’ll kill you myself and I’ll enjoy it.”

“Yes sir,” Tom swallowed. 

“I don’t want to see you either Gregory,” Captain Hirsch said, voice icy cold, “Go fix your nose and pray that’s all I do to you. You deserve worse.”

Greg brushed past him, out the door, and Tom jogged to catch up. 

“Fuck, Greg, I’m sorry. I didn’t think-”

Greg whipped around. His hand was covered in blood, and it dotted his white shirt as well. Tom’s stomach turned at the sight, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d _seen_ blood before. 

“It’s fine,” Greg said stiffly, “I would have done the same thing honestly. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t know he was your father.”

“Why do you think I kept it from you? What must you think of me now? I just- it doesn’t matter”

“Greg-” Tom reached out a hand. He didn’t know what to do, maybe put a hand on Greg’s arm, to try and reassure him. To do something instead of standing here like the biggest prick the world had ever known, “I-”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Greg said firmly, waving him away, “I’ll see you later. Don’t come looking for me if I’m not at dinner. I don’t want to see anyone.”

_I don’t want to see you,_ is what Tom heard, and he couldn’t find it in his heart to find anything wrong with that. Greg was just too Goddamn nice to say what he really meant. 

He wanted to stop Greg and ask him a thousand questions. About the curse, about his father, about it all, but he didn’t. Greg didn’t want to speak to him, and Tom thought that he was right in doing so. Tom had fucked it all.

He watched Greg go in silence.


	11. to beg forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom brings Greg dinner and asks to be forgiven

Though he’d been told not to, when Greg didn’t show up for dinner, Tom tucked a plate away and made plans to deliver it. Even if Greg didn’t eat it, Tom had to try. Sure, it was mostly to make himself feel better, but he had to try. So what if it was mostly for himself? 

“That’s for the boy?” John asked, nodding towards the plate. 

“Yes,” Tom admitted, slightly embarrassed about the entire thing, “He didn’t come to eat. And he looked so ill earlier today, I thought it would help if he had a little something.”

It was mostly something he thought his mother might do, but Tom had always taken after his mother in things like this. He could practically see her putting a plate together for an ill guest, just to make sure they had the option to eat if they wanted it. 

“He’s one to vanish when the cap’n lashes out. Won’t see hide nor tail of him for several days now I’d imagine,” John shrugged. Clearly this was not the first time this sort of thing had happened.

Tom frowned, “It’s my fault.”

“Don’t worry yourself too hard about it lad,” John said softly, “The boy’s tough. He’ll be just fine. He always is.”

This was not in any way reassuring. Despite the fact that the captain seemed to despise most of his crew, and Tom had watched him yell at almost all of them at some point over the months, he got the impression that no one really minded that Greg took most of the hits. If the captain was laying into him, then they’d be safe. 

It was horrible. He hoped that somehow he’d just misunderstood the situation, that these people didn’t _like_ Greg being the the scapegoat, but that there was some… reason for it all. But maybe he was just trying to see the good in a bunch of criminals.

Why he cared so much about Greg was still unclear. He thought perhaps it was the fact that they were both incredibly on the outskirts of the ship for different reasons. Tom was still a prisoner, and Greg was both the captain’s son, and the captain’s least favorite. It was like the children on the streets of London who banded together when no one else would have them. He didn’t want Greg to hate him. They didn’t have to be friends, or anything of that sort, but he couldn’t live with himself if Greg hated him. 

He had to go and beg for forgiveness. 

“Go ahead,” John sighed, “I’ll clean up for t’night. And bring him one of the apples we picked up at port. He likes those.”

Tom thanked him and slipped up the stairs, slipping several apples into his pocket on the way up. The only person he needed to avoid was Captain Hirsch, which proved easy enough as the man was likely still fuming in his quarters. He knocked lightly on Greg’s door and then took a step back.

He was greeted by silence.

“I know you don’t want to see me,” Tom called. He felt like a proper idiot standing in the hallway and shouting at Greg’s closed door, “But you should eat.”

The door flew open.

“Don’t mother me,” Greg said, taking the plate, “And don’t stand in the hallway shouting. You look stupid.”

He stepped back to let Tom in, and slammed the door shut behind him. Greg had cleaned the blood off his face, but his cheeks were already starting to bruise. His nose didn’t _look_ broken though. Perhaps he’d already put it back into place. 

“Did it break?” Tom asked, running a finger along his own nose to indicate what he was talking about.

“I’ll live,” Greg said. He set the plate down on the bed, “I told you I didn’t want to see anyone.”

“I know what you said. But I thought you might want something to eat. You could always have it in the morning. John said you liked apples.”

“I’m not hungry,” Greg said. He picked the plate up again and set it on the desk, then sat down in its place. Tom hesitated for a moment and handed over an apple. Greg looked at it and took a bite. 

Shiv didn’t like it when he loitered around when she was upset. Didn’t like to be touched or held. But he didn’t know how else to make someone feel less like pure shit. He weighed his options then sat down next to Greg. The bed buckled further. They were not meant for two people, he was quickly learning, but he had to do something.

“I’m so sorry,” Tom said, “I mean it. I am. I didn’t think-”

“Please stop apologizing. It’s _fine._ ”

Tom put a gentle hand on Greg’s arm, and this time, he wasn’t waved away. 

“I won’t try to run away again,” Tom said, “Seriously. I won’t. I don’t- I don’t want you to get in trouble like that again. Fuck, Greg. I didn’t think.”

“Wish I could run away,” Greg muttered. 

Tom had a stupid thought, that the two of them could run away together. If it was both of them they had a better shot maybe, Tom though. It was horrible, but Captain Hirsch would probably be glad to be rid of his son. He had to bite back the nonsense that threatened to spill out. 

But that was all just talk. Stupid talk. Tom had a fiancée he loved, and he couldn't very well run away with another man. 

What was all that about? It wasn’t as if Tom… 

Well. Maybe he _was_. He stole another glance at Greg, who, he discovered, was looking at him. 

Maybe he just was after all. He didn’t see why someone couldn’t like women _and_ men after all. Just because he’d never been allowed back in London didn’t mean things hadn’t changed now. But it was probably best not to think too much about that.

“I thought you might be hungry, since you were sick earlier. Might help to get your strength back up. And John said that you liked apples. I figured you could stow some away for later in here.”

“Thank you,” Greg said, “That was nice of you.”

Silence fell. Greg looked at him curiously. Tom didn’t like it very much. He felt like Greg could read his mind, and he did not appreciate that one bit. 

“What is it?” Tom asked, “You look terrible.”

Greg smiled, “You don’t look too well yourself.”

“You should sleep if you’re not going to eat. Try to fix your face. You look like you ran into a wall.”

“ _Feels_ like that. Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you stay? Just for a little bit. Maybe- well, I think I don’t _actually_ want to be alone.”

Tom blinked, “If you’d like me to. But you have to go to sleep. You said not to mother you, but I still think you should rest if you’re not going to eat.”

“That’s alright,” Greg muttered, and Tom stood up so he could climb into his cot. He dragged the chair from the desk and brought it to the bedside. Greg rolled over to face him with a thump.

“How’s the nose?”

“Hurts,” Greg said, and Tom fussed with the sheets for a moment, like his mother had done when he was ill. He didn’t know how else to show he was sorry, that he wouldn't do something like that again, that he cared. That he wouldn’t mess up like that again. 

“I bet it does.”

He thought then, that if Greg asked him to climb into bed with him he might just have done so, just to hold him. Just to _know_ what it might be like. But he hadn’t asked, so Tom contented himself with his bedside chair, “It’s alright.”

Tom leaned down, and, without much thought, gently kissed Greg’s forehead, “Just go to sleep. I promise I won’t go anywhere.”


	12. hurricane season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew prepares for a storm, and Tom learns a thing or two about them

The swelling and bruising on Greg’s face started healing, and Tom did everything he could to avoid the captain and his wrath. A day later, Greg showed up at breakfast and several of the crew members greeted him fondly.

(“I think it’s an improvement lad,” the master gunner, who everybody simply called Vulture, said fondly, which got an uproar of laughter. Tom laughed nervously too, once he saw that Greg thought it was funny and wasn’t hurt by it.)

According to John-- whose feelings on Tom had changed from neutral and indifferent to almost fatherly practically overnight-- this was the earliest Greg had ever shown his face after one of his father’s lashings. Which were, Tom also learned, somewhat frequent. 

Tom wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that. Best not to do anything with it at all.

A storm was brewing on the horizons. A nasty one by all the signs. It would delay them by several days and maybe even a week. Perhaps longer. There was no way of knowing. It had put Captain Hirsch in an even fouler mood, and he’d taken to his quarters and refused to come out. John had muttered to Tom that this pouting was common behavior when plans were altered. He, Jim, and Frank-- the terrible trio, as Tom thought of them-- were sour and short-tempered. 

“Like a wee little baby who won’t get his way,” Gerald, one of the gunners said, shaking his head when Tom handed him his morning meal, “It’s pathetic ain’t it fancy man?”

It wasn’t just John who had changed their behavior around him. Crew members finally, formally introduced themselves. Henry, the teenager who spent most of his time in the crow’s nest taught him a dice game over dinner one evening, Charles, the Sailingmaster, let Tom help him organize the maps, all while a string of dirty jokes spilled out of his mouth, some of which embarrassed even Tom, and John let him into the secret cabinet where the good liquor was stored. 

“So what gives?” Tom asked. He and John were securing all the loose bins and barrels in preparation for the storm. Well, _Tom_ was securing things, John was shouting at him as he did so, but it wasn’t mean in the slightest, “Why all the niceties? Am I about to be killed and you all are sending me off after a few nice smiles?”

John frowned at him. Tom thought he could hear the rain starting to fall outside, but the thunder was still a bit off.

“You must think we’re a bunch of murderers,” John said. 

“I can’t say I think of you as model citizens.”

“We all do what it takes eh? I saw that cargo from yer ship. We’ve been eating that food stock for months now. Appreciate ya for it.”

Tom chuckled, “I certainly didn’t buy it. But I mean it. Why all the kindness? These past few months no one would do much as look at me when I served them breakfast and supper. Now everybody wants to be my bosom buddy.”

“It’s the boy,” John said.

“Greg?”

“Aye. Greg. The boy grew up on this ship. With his grandfather, when his grandfather still sailed. All of us have seen the way the captain treats him. I’m not sayin’ that life on the seas isn’t tough. It is. But you’d think the man would have a little decency for his son. He’s a good lad. A little daft sometimes, his head in the clouds I think, but a good, decent lad. He don’t mean no harm.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t see the correlation,” Tom tied off another barrel swiftly. It was a skill he’d never forgotten, no matter how long he went without doing it. Sometimes it was nice to do things without thinking too much about them.

“Are ye a Navy man?” John asked, dancing around Tom’s confusion. 

“I was, when I was younger, before I went private.” Before, he thought, I became a smuggler. 

(And the more that he thought about it, the less he liked it.)

“The boy likes you,” John said, “He doesn’t have many friends. Grew up alone. You treat him alright, and that makes you alright by most of us. We can’t- showing him any sort of kindness, no matter what, under the captain’s eye brings hell to all of us. Greg knows it, as do we all. He’d never let us- I suppose it don’t matter in the end. Yer a bit different.”

“I’m a prisoner.”

“Aye.”

“I have to admit, you’re much more decent than many of the men I know, even if you are a bunch of dirty pirates.”

“We’ve been distant, I know it. Oh aye, I know it. But word travels. You went to bring him a plate. It’s the kind of care we’ve got to give each other out here. We’re all we’ve got in the end. Captain don’t care much for any of us. Save maybe for Jim ‘n Frank, for their usefulness never seems to runs out.”

“That’s all it took? I’d have brought him dinner in his quarters weeks ago.”

“You’ll see it all soon enough lad,” John said mysteriously. Tom, again, got the distinct impression that he wasn’t being told the full story. That everybody else knew something he didn’t, “Can ye finish up down here? Or do you need me to watch yer every move?”

“I can do it,” Tom said softly, “A bad storm you think?”

“Mm,” John muttered, “The worst we’ve seen for a bit. You best say all yer prayers tonight. She’ll be a mighty strong storm. We’ll be lucky not to be blown more’n a few weeks off course. Least it’ll give us a break from the captain. He can’t stand storms. He’ll stay hidden until the waves settle and the thunder stops.”

“Fuck,” Tom muttered. He hadn’t weathered a bad storm at sea in about a decade. But it was hard to forget how dangerous they were. He had seen countless wrecks from the aftermath of a bad storm. Like this one. That, coupled with the inevitable wrath of Captain Hirsch when he realized how delayed they were, was enough to make ever the strongest man anxious. 

“I’d like to invite you to the galley this evenin’ after dark. Little bit of a tradition of ours, on the nights before storms. A little rally before it all goes to hell.”

“Oh sure,” Tom said, feeling, for the first time, like he wasn’t quite a prisoner anymore. He knew he still was. That death had been stalled for a bit, but had an end date now, as soon as he was no longer useful, Captain Hirsch was going to kill him, but perhaps it wasn’t worth it to fight anymore. If they wanted to treat him like a crew member until the captain slit his throat or threw him overboard or whatever it was they were going to do, maybe he should just let them. “Sounds like a fun night.”


	13. scary stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom learns the crew's pre storm ritual.

The storm was just beginning when Tom made his way back to the galley. He could hear them from upstairs, shouting and laughing. Someone was playing music, and when he slipped into the room, he was immediately greeted by a mug of alcohol, and shuffled into a seat. It was almost loud enough there to drown out the storm, but every so often a crash of thunder would boom, and Tom would remember that they could very well be at the bottom of the ocean by this time tomorrow. 

“Play us another!” Henry shouted, when the song ended, and the band-- three of the men who worked the sails-- started up again. Tom knew their names were Patrick, Tim, and Joseph, but he couldn’t have matched the name to the face. 

“What is this?” Tom asked Greg, pointing at his drink, who squeezed between the tables to join him.

“The wine from your ship,” Greg clapped him on the back, “Fancy stuff. I could get used to this. It’s not my favorite though, I have to admit.”

“I wasn’t aware you could afford a favorite wine in your position in life.”

It was a night of revelry. The storm outside grew stronger. The ship rocked back and forth, but Tom was far too occupied with the intense poker game where he’d lost everything he had on him-- a button from his jacket and a single Shilling-- and the copious amounts of wine he was supplied with. It was easy to forget how possible death seemed with the oncoming storm. Tom could understand the tradition. 

“Doesn’t the captain mind this?” Tom called.

Greg shook his head, “Can’t hear it up in his quarters. Besides, it keeps us busy and out of his hair. I think he’d put up with it regardless.”

As the hours passed, several people were too drunk to stand, and had to be brought to their beds by those who were sober enough to do so. The music softened, the wine didn’t flow so fast, and Tom found himself sitting shoulder to shoulder with Greg. 

“Go on then Vulture,” the _other_ John said. No one seemed to call him that though, preferring Johnny to distinguish between the two of them, “Give us a tale. A right scary tale before we turn in for the night.”

The rain hammered above them. The thunder boomed and the ship rocked. If ever there was a place for a scary story, it was this. Tom straightened up slightly, his interest piqued. He could appreciate a frightening tale as much as the next person, though Shiv found horror to be tedious and boring. 

“Ah I don’t want to scare the fancy new man off,” Vulture said, motioning towards Tom, “Can’t very well send Greg’s new friend screaming out into the storm.”

“I can handle it,” Tom said, feeling a little like a child who was told he was too young to do something. Several of the others snickered. _Why_ he felt the need to prove himself to these pirates, he really didn’t understand.

Vulture held up his hands, “Don’t say I didn’t warn ye.”

The music fell silent, and mugs were refilled before the story could start. Tom could feel the anticipation buzzing in the air. Evidently, these stories were popular and not to be missed. Silently, Greg slipped an arm through Tom’s, yawned, and settled his head on his shoulder. 

Tom had never been more aware of a person’s nearness, and his own heart pounding. He was slightly tipsy from all the wine, and warm from the activity. It wasn’t unbearably hot down below, and the rain was almost soothing.

The Vulture launched into a story about the time he was a young sailor and his ship met up with the _Flying Dutchman_. He was interrupted only once, by John who told him _ye never saw the Flying Dutchman ye scurvy dog_ but besides that, the rest of them listened with bated breath as he detailed the ghostly crew and the holes in the sails. Half of them gasped when Vulture described the face of the ghost captain, whose head was half blown off by a cannonball. Tom thought it really was a story and nothing else, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate it for what it was. 

And then there was Greg, who had finally fallen asleep, halfway through the story. Tom didn’t know how one could sleep in this storm, while Vulture told about crossing swords with a literal skeleton crew. But evidently Greg could do just that. 

“Best get to bed now,” John said with a note of authority, when Vulture finished, and they picked at the plot holes in his story-- _Maybe I took some liberties, but I’ll go to me grave swearing I saw the Dutchman._ Tom didn’t believe the story, but Vulture sure seemed to.

Tom gently shook Greg to wake him up. The thunder clapped, right overhead, and though he’d grown used to the heavy rocking, he still thought he might lose his balance when he tried to stand. 

Greg only held on tighter to him. If John hadn’t been waving them all out of the room, he might have just let Greg sleep.

People made their way out of the galley, and Tom shook Greg again. 

“Huh?”

“Good morning,” Tom whispered, “It’s late. Let’s get you to bed.”

He hauled Greg to his feet. The boat rocked again, harder than before. Tom’s feet went out from under him, and they both fell back onto the bench, Tom practically into Greg’s lap. Somebody-- he thought it was probably Johnny-- clapped. Tom felt himself blush. 

“You alright?” Greg asked, his voice thick and sleepy and not at all bothered by Tom’s nearness. 

“Yes,” Tom said, making no effort to get up, “Sorry.”

“Are you holding _me_ prisoner now?” 

“Sorry,” Tom said again, feeling like an idiot. He pushed himself up, slowly, taking more time than he needed. He liked the feel of Greg against him far more than he wanted to admit to even himself.

He sort of wished that another big gust would rock the boat again later, just so he’d have an excuse to fall into Greg’s arms again. Only maybe then, they’d be alone. 

Objectively, he should feel bad. He had Shiv back home, and even though it was more and more likely that he would never see her again, he should have been a good man, and stayed faithful. 

But for the first time, Tom remembered something she’d said when he left. 

_I’d understand, if you had a little dalliance while you were gone. It’s a long trip. I won’t mind. We’ll both be lonely and we’re both adults Tom._

And at the time, Tom hadn’t thought much of it. Surely it had been for his own sake. She was concerned about his… needs or something, so she’d given him her permission as a going away present. He had decided not to take her up on the offer, so the conversation had slipped away from his memory until this very moment. 

But did that agreement go both ways?

And did Greg even want him too?


	14. explantations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tries to offer some answers but it's interrupted anyway.

There wasn’t much to be done in the storm but wait for it to end. Every so often, they’d have to repair a leak, or fix a rope that had come undone, but it was almost calm on board. As he’d been told, Captain Hirsch made himself scarce, and the rest of them loitered below deck drinking and playing card games and trying not to wince at the cracks of thunder. 

Tom felt that maybe he’d finally earned the right to some answers. At least from Greg. If anybody had the answers he wanted, he thought it would be Greg.

“So,” he sat down across the table from Greg, who was tossing cards onto the table but didn’t seem to really be playing any sort of game, “Remember our little game? I ask a question and then you ask one? How about a round? Not that this doesn’t look _thrilling._ ”

“Sure,” Greg said, “What do you want to know?”

“Why am I the one that has to use the compass?”

“Took you long enough to ask that one,” Greg muttered, “It’s because of the compass itself. It’s, I guess, alive in a way. It has a memory. It can only be properly used by someone who receives it as a gift.”

“Well why don’t I just give it to the captain and call it a day?”

“For starters, he’s going to kill you when he’s done with you so I don’t understand why you’d want to hurry that up,” Greg said. He tossed another card onto the pile, “And besides. It has to be _willingly_ given. It’s temperamental. It would know you gave it under duress or something.”

Tom wasn’t sure he entirely understood, but Greg’s words made sense, “And it’s the only compass that can lead us where he wants to go?”

“I think it’s my turn,” Greg said, “When are you getting married.”

“March. Why this compass?”

“It’s from the island, the one we’re trying to go to,” Greg replied, “Or something like that. I don’t know really. But I think that it’s the only compass that would properly work to lead us there because it’s _from_ there.”

“That sounds like bullshit used to entertain children.”

Greg shrugged, “That’s just the story. We’re not nearly close enough with this storm to be able to tell if it’s true or not. You don’t seem to believe in much.”

Tom shrugged, “There’s a thousand stories we pass around on the seas. Most of them are nothing but just that. I can’t explain the compass, but I’m sure there’s an explanation for it. Something beyond magic, Greg, which is the answer you appear to be giving to me.”

“It wasn’t in the game that you had to _like_ your answers. You just had to _get_ an answer. But it’s my turn now.”

“Go ahead.”

“If you could, would you still try and go back to London?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Tom snapped, “Of course I would. I’m not cut out for this life. Shiv and I are meant to get married. Not for nothing Greg, but I’d do anything to get back home.”

Greg nodded. Tom couldn’t tell if he liked Tom’s answer or not. He had merely accepted it without another word. Maybe he’d really just been curious and nothing more. Tom somehow doubted that though. 

“My turn,” Tom leaned forward, “If your father is cursed, and it’s a family curse, then doesn’t that mean you’re cursed too?”

“Uh huh,” Greg said, “It does. It means a lot of things.”

“Well what _does_ it mean?”

“No. It’s not your turn yet. That’s the rule.”

Tom waved his hand in annoyance, “Go then.”

Greg frowned, and set the pile of cards down. Clearly his made up game was growing boring. Tom tapped his foot and waited. He thought that his question was probably more pressing than whatever Greg was going to come up with, but then again, perhaps Greg had a good reason for stalling. If Tom was cursed, he wasn’t sure he’d want just anybody knowing that information. 

_If_ this was a real curse. He still didn’t know if he could believe this. It wasn’t that he thought Greg had made it all up. There wasn’t any motive for it to all be made up. If there was treasure on the island why didn’t they just say so? They were Goddamn pirates. Treasure would have made more sense. 

“Fine,” Greg said, defeated, “I’ll tell you about the curse. But not here and not now. Later.”

“What’s wrong with right now?”

Greg nodded behind him, and Tom realized that the galley had fallen almost silent. He turned to see what everyone was staring at, though he had a sickening feeling he knew. There were few things that could elicit that reaction from the crew. 

Jim stood in the stairway. Tom had gotten the distinct impression that they were attached at the hip to the captain, and if they were down here, then the captain had to be close by. And that couldn’t be good. Everyone 

“Cap’n wants you,” Jim said gruffly, and Greg frowned. Tom heard a quiet whisper among the others.

“It’s still storming out,” Greg said, as if his father would be unaware of this fact. 

Jim shrugged, “Don’t know why. Only that you’re to go see him. And bring the fancy man with you. He wants to talk to you both.”

Tom opened his mouth, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. How would he even argue. The captain’s words were not up for debate.

“Captain’s orders,” Jim cut him off before he could say anything.

“I don’t understand,” Tom hissed, as they followed Jim up the stairs, “I thought the rain kept him at bay.”

“He’s terrified of storms. He always has been,” Greg shook his head, “I don’t think he’ll be too awful.”

“That’s not reassuring Gregory. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the curse. I need answers.”

“And you’ll have them. After. Later. I promise,” Greg said, but he looked wary. Tom wondered what could be so bad after everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're slowly getting to the chunk of this i _haven't_ written so if I don't end up finishing and there's a few days without an upload that's why!


	15. the curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captain reminds Greg what being a good friend entails, and Tom hears a story.

Captain Hirsch sat behind his desk. He looked _almost_ friendly, for he did not glare at them, did not even stand up. In fact, he smiled when they entered, and Tom immediately was on guard. Evil people did not smile for the same reasons that regular people did. And if Captain Hirsch was smiling, Tom did not want to know what could have happened. 

“I see you’ve made a little friend Gregory,” he said, folding his hands on the desk. The thunder banged outside, and the captain winced, though Tom thought he hid it well. Tom wasn’t sure how one could use this fear of the captain’s to his advantage-- really there was probably no way, but it was nice to know he feared _something._

“You told me to keep him out of your way,” Greg said, glancing down. Already he sounded downtrodden, like he’d been shouted at, when really nothing had happened. Perhaps it was just the way you acted when this had been your life. Sometimes he thought Roman and Kendall acted that way, when Logan wanted to speak to them, even if he wasn’t unkind then. 

“And so I did. It is reassuring to see that sometimes you are capable.”

“What can I do for you sir?” Greg asked. 

“I was wondering if you had told your new little _friend_ of the fate I have so kindly saved him from.”

“You’re not going to have me killed?” Tom asked, and to his surprise, the captain actually laughed. There was something that Tom was missing. He glanced between the two of them, but could not figure out what it was.

“No, that’s still the plan,” Captain Hirsch said, “I just thought you might have told him by now Greg. That’s not being a very good friend now is it? You don’t want to get your friend upset with you Greg.”

“I was going to,” Greg said.

“Far be it from me to stop you then, I’m sure you’ll do what’s _right_ ,” Captain Hirsch smiled again and Tom hated the smugness on his face, “You go ahead then. I don’t want to keep Mr. Wambsgans in suspense any longer.”

He waved them off and Tom practically chased Greg down the hallway to stop him.

“Tell me,” Tom said firmly, holding Greg’s arm to stop him walking any further, “Why’s he so fucking smug about this all?”

Greg frowned, then sighed. 

“When my grandfather, his brother, and sister were young, younger than me, they were out sailing. The whole family were sailors,” Greg began. Tom watched him, desperate to finally have some answers to the entire thing. Then they might be equal. Greg would not have any information Tom did not have, which was something he hated, “The three of them were close, I suppose. But they stumbled across the island, the one on the map, or so I’ve been told. When they were there, they discovered treasure and jewels. Everything you could hope for. But the loot was cursed to touch. It killed the sister-- Rose was her name. She got the brunt of it.”

Tom thought that Shiv had a late aunt by the same name, but that was about all. Greg was giving him so much information, but he wasn’t sure why. 

“The brothers were cursed,” Greg frowned, “Split down the middle. One family cursed to live on the sea, the other on land. That was fine by them, for they blamed each other for their sister’s death. I don’t think either of them were to blame. It just _happened._ How do you know something is cursed?”

Tom shook his head, “How did she die? What was the captain talking about?”

“I’m not sure. My grandfather will not talk about her. Only that she was very beautiful and it was very abrupt and very bloody.”

“Where is this _going?_ ” Tom asked, “So your family is cursed. You’ve told me this. Why are you drawing it out like this? I asked what happened and you've told me. What is it that you’ve been hiding from me?”

“You wanted to know about it Tom.”

Tom waved his hand and ignored the fact that Greg was right, “Get to the point Greg.”

“My grandfather is Ewan Roy. His brother is Logan Roy. You’re engaged to a cursed family.”

Tom felt the world stop around him. 

It _felt_ like bullshit. A stupid and futile attempt to… do what exactly? What did Greg have to gain by ruining his engagement? But even if there was nothing, he should have laughed at it because it _should_ have been funny.

Tom was not laughing. Because he had seen Greg on the land. And he believed it. Goddamn it, he believed the curse and it was anything but funny. 

“I know this is probably more to take in than you would have liked,” Greg continued, “But it’s only fair that you know. I don’t know, really, if it should have been _me_ that told you but-”

“It’s too late for that now.”

It was not, objectively, the worst news Tom had ever received. But it was still quite a lot to take it. He pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to think. But his heart was too loud, the crew was too loud, and everything felt like it was crashing down on top of him and he could do nothing to stop it. 

“So, when I married her, then what?”

“ _Well_ ,” Greg began, “If my parents' marriage is anything to go by, then you’d be unable to stay at sea for very long. I don’t think you’d be able to manage a trip to the colonies. France, probably. But you’d be miserable the entire time. Thankfully it’s not a long journey. You could probably live without the sea. I think Logan’s family got the better curse.”

Tom thought about the last time he’d seen any of the Roys on the water. Shiv claimed her father couldn’t swim, thus his aversion to it, but Logan was an old man, and Tom thought nothing of it. Many men retired from the sea. He couldn’t remember Kendall nor Roman taking any sea voyages that he was aware of. He thought, vaguely, he’d remembered one of them claiming seasickness ran in the family. Evidently that was more serious than the average case. 

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Tom asked, though the question was not one Greg could answer, “And why didn’t you think to mention earlier that the blood curse is a _Roy family_ blood curse. You never thought to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was ever the right time,” Greg said. He kicked at the deck and ran a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry. I was going to. I didn’t- I don’t know why he brought it up to you. Probably because he doesn’t like that we’re… friends? Are we friends still after this?”

“What happens, to you, if you’re on the land for too long?” Tom asked, ignoring Greg’s question, mostly because he didn’t have an answer. He was raising his voice, and several people had stopped to watch them-- perhaps having this argument on the deck was not the best place, but it was too late for that. 

“I’d imagine that I would probably die.”

“How long?”

Greg swallowed, “The longest I’ve ever been able to be on land was two weeks. And by the end of the first week or so I thought I would probably die then. It is the worst I’ve ever felt I think.”

Greg seemed to shudder at the memory and Tom didn’t blame him. If the stop at the port had been any preview, then it had potential to get very nasty.

But he was so _angry_. Angry at Greg for not revealing all this sooner. Angry at Shiv for not telling him about it in the first place. He looked for something to throw, something to hit, but there wasn’t anything around that fit his needs. He clenched his fists and felt his palms sting as his nails cut them. Greg watched him warily. 

“What of your mother?” Tom said, “She lives in Canada. I don’t think Canada is a ship on the sea?”

“She chose the land years ago,” Greg shrugs. He couldn’t tell if Greg was jealous or resentful of his mother’s choice, “She’s close enough to the sea. She trained herself, in a way. Spent chunks of time on land at a time, then going out to the water. She says now she can mostly stand it, so long as she’s on the coast. She is, as she puts it, content but not as content as she wishes she could be. I’d imagine she feels slightly ill most of the time but ignores it as best she can, and steps into the water when she can’t.”

It was all too much information at once. He waved Greg off and brushed past him, storming down to his quarters. At least there he could throw his pillow into the wall and break anything that was breakable. 

Which is what he did. 

If he had been small enough to get through the porthole then perhaps he might have done so, but he was too broad. There was a knock on the door as he thought about this. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” he called back. Stupidly, he picked things off the floor. The pillow was returned to the bed, the desk was cleared, his clothes were put away. He kicked the debris under the furniture. 

“I know,” Greg called back, “I know you don’t. But you were so upset- fuck, I don’t know. I thought that maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”

Tom felt like a petulant child. It wasn’t _really_ Greg’s fault. Yes, he thought Greg should have told him sooner, but he didn’t. What was the use of being upset about something that had already happened? 

He thought he heard Greg slide down against the door and Tom, after a moment, went and sat down on his side of the door.

“Why didn’t you stay with your mother?” Tom called. The doors were not too thick, and Greg could probably hear him fine, “If she could work it out so could you.”

“It’s better this way,” Greg said, which wasn’t an answer, “Are you going to be alright?”

“I suppose I’ll have to be. It won’t matter though. Your _father_ isn’t going to let me live much longer. Once the storm passes and we’re back on course, my days will be numbered.”

Greg didn’t say anything. After several moments of silence, in which neither of them said much, he heard Greg stand and his footsteps retreat down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just all exposition im sorry lol


	16. mutiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg weather the storm, and Greg tells a story.

It was the eye of the storm. A false peace before they were battered again. It had only been a few days but Tom could not remember a time before the rain and wind. It seemed an eternity now. 

Tom also felt like his _own_ life was going through it’s eye. Peace for a bit, and then the storm would return, and he would die. 

The break in the storm was nice, but even so, he didn’t mind the storm too much. When he wasn’t working in the kitchens or up on deck he returned to his quarters and oftentimes Greg would come with him. They did not always talk much. They hadn’t properly discussed the curse, hadn’t discussed Greg’s hiding it from him really. Tom figured they would never discuss it, and try as he might to stay mad, he had no other friends on board, so it wasn’t worth his time. He let it drop, and pretended it had not happened. Greg would eye him sometimes, trying to gauge if he was still upset, but Tom kept his face neutral, and eventually, Greg seemed to stop worrying.

It wouldn’t matter soon enough. And even if, by a miracle or something and Tom _didn’t_ die, he would be in London, and then it wouldn’t matter anyway what Greg had kept from him.

In their times together, Tom would write letters to his parents, to Shiv, letters that would never reach them, and Greg would lay on his cot and stare at the ceiling, hands clasped on his chest. 

“You always look like you’re thinking,” Tom said, “it must be awfully painful.”

He finished a letter to his mother, where he talked about only the good parts of the ship— it was not a very long letter, and it was almost entirely about Greg— and then folded it up to place in the desk drawer with the other unsent letters. 

“I _am_ thinking,” Greg replied. 

“What about?” 

“Killing the captain,” Greg said casually. Tom turned to look at him, but his posture and face showed no change, as if he _hadn’t_ just suggested both mutiny and patricide. 

“That seems like a surefire way to get yourself executed.”

Greg sat up and moved to the end of the bed. With Tom turned around in his chair, they were almost touching. Greg ran a hand through his hair and glanced around, like someone could be listening. And Tom didn’t blame him. Jim and Fred had a habit of showing up when you least expected them. 

“Can we play the question game?” Tom asked suddenly.

“Yes.”

“You said that you knew you could stand two weeks on land. How did you come to that number? I don’t imagine it’d be something I would want to test.”

“You’re going to… pity me or something and I don’t know if I can stand it from you.”

Tom shook his head, “Just tell me. I won’t say anything.”

They didn’t fit very well in the small space between the bed and the chair. Greg’s legs were too long to fit without cramping surely, and Tom, looking for something to do, put a hand on Greg’s knee. He hoped it was encouraging. 

“Many years ago,” Greg began, and Tom knew he was going to take forever to get to the story’s end. It appeared to be his habit, “There were other crew members. They’re always coming and going you know? But some of them thought my father was a tyrant.”

“Isn’t he?”

Greg smiled weakly, “It’s not your turn to ask a question.”

“Sorry.”

“They were smooth talkers, very charismatic. Made the rest of us think that perhaps we had a chance. We were always desperate for a change. Still are I guess. But we were found out. I think maybe the captain suspected something, had someone under him. I don’t know what happened, but we were found out. It was, well, you can imagine the kind of reaction it got from my father. The crew members, the new ones, were tossed overboard. Some of the others, John, Gerald, Vulture-- those types-- tried to talk him out of punishing me. I wasn’t very old. Eighteen or perhaps younger? They’d always tried to do what he wouldn’t.”

“I got that impression,” Tom said softly.

“He didn’t like that. I think he found their… loyalty worse than the proposed mutiny itself. He dropped us off at a tavern in South Carolina, several days' journey from the coast, and told Jim that if any of us were to leave the tavern, to shoot us on sight.”

“Why?”

Greg shrugged, “I think he gets pleasure out of torturing people and that ends when he kills them. They took care of me. I think I owe them my life. _My_ crew.”

Without thinking much, Tom pulled Greg against his chest, just to hold him. He thought maybe Greg was shaking slightly, “It must be awful for you to think about.”

“I’ve never been so sick. I thought that I might die. And he _knew_ it.”

_I’m thinking about killing the captain too,_ Tom thought but did not say. Of course the thought had crossed his mind. What prisoner does not consider the idea of killing his captor? But this was the first time he thought that he really meant it. 

“You don’t pity me?”

“No,” Tom said, though he did in a way. Greg _was_ pitiful, that was true. The poor fool had grown up under an evil father, with a curse that wasn’t even his fault to begin with. How pathetic it was, but there was something else there, something you only achieved when life had been most unfair. A kind of hunger for something good, no matter the cost and no matter the means, “No I won’t pity you.”

“Thank you,” Greg said. Tom tightened his grip, and held on. 

“You might not make such a bad captain yourself,” Tom mused, mostly to see how Greg reacted. 

“That’s mutiny as well Tom,” Greg said quietly. 

“Well I didn’t say I was going to _do_ it now did I? Besides, I don’t think you’re going to tell anyone,” he said. Greg pushed himself up sighed. Tom hesitated for a half a moment, and then tucked a strand of Greg’s hair that had fallen in his eyes behind his ear. It was a strangely intimate movement, despite the fact that there was nothing really overly _intimate_ about it. Perhaps it was his nearness, perhaps it was the topic of their conversation. Perhaps it was a million things and nothing at all. 

When he had first met Shiv, when they were dancing around the idea of courting, there had been moments like these, the two of them close, nearly touching. Tom could always feel some kind of spark between the two of them. Why he could feel it now, he did not know. 

“What?” Greg said, “You’re looking at me strange.”

“No I’m not,” Tom sat back further, the moment passed. He couldn’t think too much about it, and definitely would not happen again. This was not the first time, but it had to be the last. 

It _had_ to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was just me angsting on greg a lil bit


	17. french lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets Greg to tutor in him French, and learns something bad, and something hopeful.

It was a silly thing, and, if Tom was being honest, it was an excuse to spend time around Greg for a reason. With time running out before the island either made its appearance, or the captain realized it was all a story, Tom was also running out of time. Either way, his days were numbered. Death was just down the way now. If he looked fast enough, he might be able to catch a dingy black cloak, catch the shine of a scythe. A bony hand waiting to grab him. Death was biding his time, knowing it was almost up.

“You want me to teach you French?” Greg asked, “Why? It doesn’t seem like something necessary for you.”

“I don’t like you knowing something I don’t.”

Greg rolled his eyes, “I’m no tutor.”

“And I’m no student. What else do you have to do? Tick off the days until your father kills me? Sit and stare at the ocean and pray we see land? Might as well give a dying man a bit of education.”

“You’re piss poor at it,” Greg said. 

“Then you’ll have to be a good teacher. It’s the teacher’s job to make up for a poor student.”

“Why Tom?”

“The captain is going to kill me,” Tom said. He tried hard to avoid saying ‘your father’ as he assumed Greg did not like to be reminded of that fact, and it felt…. Cruel. Much crueler than he wanted to be perceived as, “And you’re my friend. It might be a nice way to spend the time until he does so. Give us something to take our minds somewhere else.”

“I think he’s going to kill me too,” Greg said softly, almost… wistfully. 

Tom shot him a look, “What?”

Greg shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do my best I suppose. What do you want to say?”

“What do you mean he’s going to kill you too?”

“What do you mean is ‘ _que voulez-vous dire.’_ You should probably repeat it.”

Greg started walking along the ship, a hand on the railing, and Tom jogged to catch up with him. Several people paused to watch them, just long enough for Tom to glare at them. He hoped they understood he wished to remain unbothered. 

“Just that. I think he’s going to kill me too.”

“Why?”

“In French,” Greg said, clearly enjoying his role as his expensive French tutor too much. Maybe he was going as mad as Tom felt he was sometimes. Tom was even reminded of the men who’d been brought in when he was a child to teach him geography and Latin and history, “Do you know it?”

Tom racked his brain, “ _Pourquoi?_ ”

“Your pronunciation is objectively terrible but I think I see potential.”

“ _Why Greg?_ You can’t just _say_ something like that and then pretend that you didn’t.”

“The Captain’s let me read the journal from the port,” Greg kicked at the deck, “There’s a… spell? Ritual? I’m not sure what you’d call it. But it requires a sacrifice of flesh and blood and bone. That sort of thing. The blood of the cursed line. And he’s not the cursed side of the family. I am. I know that’s what he took it to mean, and I know he won’t hesitate.”

“There’s got to be another way,” Tom said quickly, “Surely there’s another way.”

“You’re welcome to read it Tom, but I don’t think there’s another way. You’ll probably die first though. Does that make you feel better?”

Tom leaned forward and hissed, “ _Do you think that makes me feel fucking better? Don’t be an idiot._ ”

“It’s romantic in a way I suppose.”

“It’s horrific. It’s not romantic. Why have you so readily accepted it?”

Greg shrugged, “He’s been looking for a reason to kill me for ages now. I suppose, well, only I think he didn’t have the guts. Deep down, I think he’s a coward. But he wants this so bad he’d kill me for it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Greg shrugged, and after a moment, sat down, back against the ship. He tilted his head back and shut his eyes. Tom joined him, pulling his knees up against his chest. 

“I don’t really _want_ to die.”

“Let me see the words that say you have to die,” Tom said, “Maybe I can figure it out.”

“You can’t even learn French,” Greg chuckled, clearly proud of his comeback. 

“Well I’ve got a shit teacher,” Tom bumped Greg’s knee with his own, “What’s my next lesson? I promise I’ll behave myself in class.”

“Alright,” Greg sighed and glanced around, “Next lesson is all about the parts of the ship. This will be on the exam, so you better take some good notes.”

“Let me read the entry,” Tom said, “maybe I can help. I _want_ to help. I don’t want you to die. What sort of a terrible friend would I be if I let you die.”

“I like being friends with you. I think perhaps you’re my best friend. I’m not very good at making friends. I suppose there haven't been many opportunities however.”

“That’s depressing,” Tom said, “Show me the words.”

_Let me try and save you, even if I can’t save myself._

That’s what he wanted to say. But he didn’t.

“If you insist,” Greg pushed himself up and offered Tom a hand up, “Maybe it’d be good to have a fresh eye on them. Tom pretended not to notice the roughness of Greg’s hand, or the way it tightened around his own. He did not want Greg to let go. Ever, if he was honest. 

But Greg _did_ let go.

“Do you have any faith in me?” Tom asked.

Greg didn’t reply right away. He glanced out over the sea and Tom wondered what was going through his head. Probably terror, something like that, though whatever it was it didn’t show.

“Yes,” he said simply.


	18. on semantics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom tries to find a way to keep them both alive.

“Alright, actually,” Greg said, flattening the sheet of the paper on his desk, “I’m not meant to have this. The captain ordered them all destroyed once deciphered, but I managed to save this one.”

“I see that by the burn marks,” Tom replied, “But I suppose that was very clever on your part.”

“I’m telling you there’s not a better way,” Greg said, “I mean, perhaps if it was only me, if he hadn’t read it but I think it’s too late now. He knows too much.”

Tom sat down to read. 

_Though gold glitters fiercely  
Cursed be the one who pillages from it  
Passed down from generations  
Until the end times come._

“It sure sounds like your problem,” Tom said. 

“It would be odd if there was another one.”

_Blood calls to blood  
With and without   
The gold will take back what it gave  
If ye be willing to return it._

_Death is the beginning and the end  
A gift to appease   
What was disturbed before   
To receive such a gift, thee must pay the largest cost._

“That’s the part that seems to call for a blood sacrifice,” Greg said. 

“I got that Greg,” Tom said, “Don’t interrupt me.”

_The cost is flesh and bone and soul  
Together with the same blood that brought ye to me  
Is the only way for man to return   
To both the land and sea._

“It’s my blood,” Greg said, “Not his.”

And Greg was right. Tom read it that way too. Sure, the captain was cursed just the same, but it was different. Tom wasn’t sure how it worked-- and perhaps neither did anyone else-- but this specifically called for the same blood. It was Greg’s grandfather and his siblings who had brought the curse on the family. And it was Roy blood in Greg’s veins. 

“It does seem that way,” Tom muttered. He reread the words again and again, but found nothing new, “But it doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you trying to find a loophole in this?”

“Do you want to die or not?” Tom snapped, “Because if you’d like to die, you can burn this paper and we can accept it and that’ll be that, and I won’t waste any of my precious few days left on it.”

“Sorry,” Greg said.

“No, I’m sorry,” Tom shook his head, “I didn’t mean to be angry with you. But there’s got to be something in this that will allow you to live, and the curse to be lifted.”

“I mean,” Greg sighed and sat down at the foot of the bed, “I think it requires someone to die.”

“I’d agree to that,” Tom said, “You know I’m going to die right?”

Greg shook his head, “I don’t think you work though. I think it has to be someone _affected_ by the curse.”

“We could kill the captain,” Tom said. He glanced back at the paper, “I suppose it’s not a certainty though. It says ‘born from the same blood’ and that doesn’t work for him.”

“No.”

“ _But_ ,” Tom continued, turning the words over in his head again and again, “I think there could be a way.”

“How do you figure?”

Tom held up the paper and pointed to one phrase-- _together with._

“I don’t follow.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “Of course you don’t. Listen, your father read this as one person. The flesh and bone and soul _and_ the blood all belonging to the same person. But I don’t read it that way. I think that it requires flesh and bone and soul from one person, perhaps any person, and then blood-- and it doesn’t say how much-- from another. It’s like a recipe, as morbid as that sounds.”

Greg considered this, “Just like when it began. When Rose died-- well, she’d have been the sacrifice?”

“Is there anything from your grandfather’s story, _anything_ at all, that might indicate they bled for the curse, but didn’t die. This is life or death Greg, you understand that right?”

Greg frowned, and Tom could almost see him retelling the story to himself. He’d never met Ewan Roy, so it was hard to picture Greg at his grandfather’s knee listening, but the image came together well enough. He’d seen the picture of a young Greg with his mother, though it was still hard to imagine a child version of the man sitting across from him, climbing the crow’s nest, watching a younger John cook in the galley, still too short to see over the railing properly. 

He felt a quiet kind of anger at the captain again. For the hurt he had surely inflicted, even back then.

“Yes,” Greg said, after several very tense moments. Tom was beginning to think his idea was nothing. That he was just desperate, “Yes I think that there was.”

“What is it?” he asked cautiously. Their chance was thin anyway. There was no way to ensure that he was right until they were in the moment. Tom didn’t like that kind of a risk, “What happened?”

“My grandfather,” Greg began, “He used to say that he and Logan made a promise, when they’d realized what had happened, to do everything they could to ensure that something like that would never happen to their family again, a senseless death, that’s what he called it. They swore in blood. Over their sister, Grandfather used to say.”

“I’m not sure they kept that promise,” Tom said, thinking of the way Logan treated his children. But they lived in comfort. They wanted for nothing material. And though he’d never excuse the way Shiv was spoken to by her father, he was fairly certain that Logan would not let a thing like that happen to his daughter. And though Tom didn’t know Greg’s half of the family, it seemed true enough.

“They blame themselves for her death,” Greg mused, “But how could you know something like that? Going in. How would you know what would happen?”

“You couldn’t unless you had some kind of prior warning,” Tom drew a deep breath, “How much of that story does your father- does the captain know?”

“The essentials,” Greg said, nodding, like he was finally following Tom’s thinking, “My grandfather never liked him.”

“Well I can see why,” Tom said, “He’s not overly likable. But I think there’s a way Greg. So long as we think. So long as we’re careful.”

“Do you really think so?”

Tom shrugged, “Why not? What’s the alternative? We die? We’re going to do that anyway. We might as well try Greg.”


	19. ghost ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg wants Tom to see a phenomenon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next couple of chapters are yet to be written, so unless i'm able to work on them tonight, there will most likely be a short break in the daily uploads!

Someone was shaking him awake and though he didn’t want to wake, he smacked them away and sat up. Greg was standing over him with a light, and a worried look.

“What is it?” Tom asked. 

“You just have to come and see.”

Tom sat up and pulled on his boots and jacket, following Greg out into the hall. The ship moaned and creaked, and Tom wondered if the hull would hold, or if it would finally give up, and the water would rush in and take them all to a watery grave. He thought about it often now, though before all this, he hadn’t thought about it since his early sailing days, as they raced towards his death. Would the ship hold as it had been, or would some miracle deprive the captain of his desire to kill him?

“What is it?” Tom said again, hushed. He didn’t like being woken in the middle of the night, didn’t like the secrecy of this. Greg took his hand and pulled him along. Tom let him.   
It was a mostly clear night though there was a fine mist covering the water, eerie, in a way. Greg pulled him along towards the railing.

“Look,” Greg said, pointing into the distance. 

Tom squinted and leaned forward, “I don’t see anything.”

“Look closer,” Greg whispered. He was right against Tom, one hand on his back. 

He wished Greg would stop standing so close to him all the time, but he also hoped he’d do it more. In fact, Tom had the ridiculous idea to turn his head and kiss him. 

But he didn’t.

There _was_ something there, so it looked like nothing more than a ship. It wasn’t doing much but floating by. 

“It’s a ship,” Tom said, “You woke me up to show me another ship? I know there’s other ships in the water.”

“Keep looking,” Greg said, “Just watch.”

Deciding to humor him, Tom shrugged and watched. He couldn’t make out the ship’s colors in the dark-- it was a clear night, but the moon was only so strong. 

“Oh,” Tom said, after what felt like several hours until the ship was close enough that he could see it as more than a vague shape in the water.

It was in no condition to be sailed, not with the gaping hole in its side. It should have been sinking in front of them, but the closer Tom looked, the more he realized it wasn’t sailing, exactly. Floating was the better word.

“Ghost ship,” Greg whispered, and Tom felt himself shiver, and he was certain it was not from the cold, “Maybe it’s the _Dutchman._ ”

Tom chuckled nervously, “Do-ah, do you think we’re in danger?”

Greg shook his head, “I don’t think so. I think, well, I think she just sails on by.”

Together, Greg’s hand still on his back, they watched in a sort of solemn silence as the ship sailed by. It came close enough to see clearly, and Tom could make out several figures on the deck, though they never so much as glanced their way. Up close Tom noticed that the ship made no noise. She didn’t even break waves. 

“I think I believe it all now,” Tom whispered, as they watched the ship pass, leaving no trail in the water behind her, “The curse. All of it. I think I believe it’s all true.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to die,” Tom said, as if it had suddenly hit him, which was stupid. He knew that he was going to die. Captain Hirsch would be true to his word. There was no doubt in his mind about that. But some foolishly hopeful part of him had wondered that _if_ it had all been, for lack of a better term, bullshit, and they arrived at the island to find nothing-- or rather the island didn’t even exist, he’d somehow be allowed to live. 

“Yes,” Greg said again, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tom said. He turned, took Greg’s face in his hands, and kissed him. Greg made a soft noise of surprise, and then leaned into it. The railing pressed against his back, and Greg pulled away.

“You’re engaged,” Greg whispered, “We shouldn’t-”

“I know,” Tom shook his head, “But it’s not going to matter soon. Have you wanted this like I have?”

“More than you I’d imagine,” Greg said, smiling, “ _I’m_ not engaged.”

“Oh shut up,” Tom said, and kissed him again. Greg laughed. 

There had been so much dancing around these past months. Every touch, every brush of his hand had been painful. He had wanted this for what felt like ages. Maybe forever. It was hard to tell. 

“This is not the place,” Tom whispered. He glanced around, though there was no one around to see them, and in the darkness, it would be hard to tell what or who they were unless they got closer, “We should go somewhere else.”

“Yes,” Greg kissed his neck and Tom briefly considered not wasting time to find a bed. It would be alright right here. He just wanted _Greg._

“Come to mine,” Tom pushed himself up. He tugged Greg along, back down the stairs, and into the hall. By that time they were stumbling over each other, laughing like they were drunk, though Tom was perfectly sober, and he got the impression Greg was as well. He groped for the doorknob and flung the door open, one arm around Greg’s neck. He didn’t like space between them. 

“Tom are you sure about this?” Greg asked, like Tom wasn’t already trying-- and failing-- at undoing Greg’s tiny buttons. 

“Yes,” Tom said firmly, “ _Please._ ”

In the morning, Greg was still there. Tom was a little surprised at that. But they dressed in silence. Tom couldn’t figure out if it was worse than waking up alone would have been.

“We can pretend that didn’t happen,” Greg said, “It might be better if we pretend. It might be easier.”

“I agree,” Tom said, though he didn’t truly and he thought Greg didn’t either. Tom didn’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. He had wanted it for so long, and to just toss it away like it was nothing felt unfair. But with everything, it was the right choice. Tom hated having to make the right choice. 

But Greg was right. It would be easier. 

“But I thought it was wonderful,” Greg leaned down and kissed him, “You better not be late for breakfast. John will be unhappy with you.” 

“Wouldn’t want that,” Tom muttered, “But it was good.”

“Yes. It was.”


	20. the eavesdroppers dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom overhears a conversation and learns several things

Tom knew that he probably shouldn’t have been listening. The pirates treated him alright, but listening to their private conversation would probably show them how nasty they could turn if they wanted to. He didn’t think they would, but Tom had yet to really get on their bad sides, so he didn’t know.

None of that stopped him from listening though. He lingered by the stairs, out of sight around the corner. It would be easy to pretend he’d just come down, pretend he heard nothing at all. It would probably work, if he played dumb well enough. He doubted they’d really suspect him, in the end.

The voice sounded like John, but he couldn’t recognize the other voice. Maybe Gerald. Maybe Vulture. He wasn’t sure. He’d mostly been around Greg, whose voice he would have recognized in a half a second.

(What, exactly that meant, he knew really, but refused to admit. Greg was his friend. That was all. His friend he’d taken to bed. His friend he… well, whatever it was, he would have recognized Greg right away. That was the point.)

“The lad’s going to break his own heart,” John said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea, him and Tom.”

He wondered if somehow they knew, but that seemed impossible. Perhaps they were just talking about what they had seen. There was no way they could know, exactly, what had happened the other night. 

“Whatever he and Tom are.”

“Right.”

The other man made a noise, “It makes him happy. Don’t have much to be happy ‘bout now. Might as well leave him be.”

“I didn’t say we should stop him now did I? I’m just sayin’ it’s going to end in sadness.”

Tom didn’t like what he was hearing. Though Greg hadn’t said anything, he was sure that the crew remained ignorant of the captain’s plan to kill them both. They still believed it was just Tom who would be meeting his untimely end. It made his stomach turn. 

“Even if he doesn’t die,” John said, “He’s going to go back to London ain’t he? No fancy man like that lives among pirates if he don’t have to. Even if he don’t die by the captain, he’ll go back to his lady and the boy will be broken-hearted.”

John was right. 

Goddamnit he was. Tom hated hearing it, even though he knew it was true.

Tom felt… well he wasn’t sure exactly what he felt about Greg, but given the option to go back to London, to his family, to his life? He’d be stupid not to wouldn’t he? What sort of a fool would he be to accept this life, this violent and difficult life on the sea, with a crew of pirates and their tyrant captain, when he had a lovely and _safe_ life back home in England? Greg would do it, John would do it. Anyone would do it if they could. Tom was certain of it.

Mostly certain of it. 

But the idea of them both living. Of their plan somehow _working_ seemed slim to none anyway. They were hopeful, sure. Hope was all they had. But Tom didn’t think that it could really work. And he had to accept that. 

So, therefore, Greg wouldn’t be broken-hearted. He would be dead. 

Tom wondered which one Greg would prefer in the end.

“He fancies the man,” the other voice said, “It’s so bleedin’ obvious to everybody.”

“Well, ‘cept perhaps the captain,” John said, and they both laughed at that. Tom smiled too, mostly out of relief. If they thought that Captain Hirsch didn’t know, then he probably didn’t. They would know better than Tom, “Thinks they’re friends maybe, but what he don’t know won’t hurt him. Man’s never had enough friends to know how yer meant to look at friends. And let me tell you, that ain’t the way you look at friends.”

“Oh what, like you and the lovely _Marianne?_ ”

“Screw off,” John said,, not unkindly and Tom thought perhaps he had shoved the other one, mostly because that’s what Tom would have done if he’d been teased about his feelings. Whoever Marianne was, Tom though that maybe John _did_ have affections for her and he wondered if she knew that about her pirate suitor, “That’s none of yer business.” 

“Alright alright, I won’t say nothing’ y know that.”

“Good.”

“That’s the God’s honest truth there ‘bout the captain though. Never seen the boy so head over heels before have we?”

“Remember that mapmaker, going on seven years or so ago?” John said fondly, “Didn’t even spare the lad a second glance, but he trailed after him like a lost puppy?”

The idea of Greg trailing after someone he liked was easy enough to imagine, and he made a note that, if they lived, to joke about it if he could. It made him chuckle to himself, a younger Greg, with who thought the mapmaker was handsome and made it clear. He composed himself and returned to listening.

“Not so bad as _that_ though,” John said, “Not quite as much.”

“Oh aye. Least the fancy man seems not to mind him. I think they might even really be friends. It’s going to break the lad’s heart,” the other man said, “Suppose ye were right when ye said as much.”

“Do ye think he knows of the boy’s affections?” John asked. Tom felt himself back up, like they could somehow sense he was there. 

“I think he must. I don’t think he’s an idiot after all. A bit daft maybe. But no’ an idiot. He must know something’.”

Tom thought he heard footsteps, so he darted up the stairs and back out into the daylight. He tried not to think too much about their words, and how much of an effect they had on him. It wasn’t even going to matter, so there was no need to focus on them so much. 

They were going to die. Both of them. Greg was keeping it from the crew, maybe to spare their feelings-- they did seem to care for him like his father was supposed to-- but both of them were dead men walking.

And if they didn’t, well… Tom would figure it out then. There was no use trying to now.


	21. land ahoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew spots the island, and Tom feels his time running out.

The call came out early, a few hours after dawn.

_Land._ ”

Tom felt his stomach turn at the news. He had been praying desperately that the map was wrong. That there would be nothing but the sea where the nameless island was supposed to be. Surely it would mean his own death, when the captain realized his only chance was gone, but Tom would have taken it. Just to put an end to it all. He didn’t want Captain Hirsch to get what he desired, and their own plan was not solid enough to ensure he wouldn’t. 

Captain Hirsch demanded the spyglass from Henry, and Tom watched him look out into the distance. When he turned, he was beaming, and Tom felt death tap on his shoulder. 

_Just around the corner now,_ it seemed to say, _I’ll see you soon. I’ll be waiting for you._

He shivered, and glanced behind him, half expecting to see the reaper himself. But there was nothing there but his imagination. 

“You heard?” Greg said, half jogging over, “Land?”

Tom nodded. He did not trust himself to speak just yet.

“I hoped he’d be wrong,” Greg frowned, “I suppose I’ve been on the sea so long, I wouldn’t mind it if it meant we could stay alive.”

“Uh huh,” Tom muttered. It was about as much as he trusted himself to say without being sick.

“But maybe there’s a chance,” Greg glanced over at the captain who was barking orders for the ship to prepare for their leaving, “Right?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound very confident,” Greg said, his face falling. Had he truly been relying on Tom’s _guess?_ It was true that Tom thought there had to be a chance, but he wasn’t certain, and if Greg depended on him and they failed… well perhaps it was just as well he didn’t have to live with the guilt of it all. 

“I’m needed in the galley,” Tom said, even though he had no idea if that was actually the case. But he didn’t want to look at the captain anymore, and he didn’t know what else to say to Greg. Rather, he felt like hiding his head in the sand for however long he could, “I’ll see you around.”

Tom wondered if this is what condemned men felt like when the morning of their execution drew near. 

“Captain’ll be looking for you,” John said, when Tom came down the stairs.

“I know. He can come down here to find me.”

John raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Tom knew he probably had a lot to say, but he was glad he didn’t say any of it. 

“Tom?”

Or not. Tom groaned and looked over, “Yes?”

“It’s not right, what’s happenin’ to ya.”

Tom glared, “You think? I wasn’t- I got dragged into all of this.”

It came out harsh, but he didn’t stop it. How dare he say this all _now_ when it had been months of nothing of the sort. It wasn’t Tom’s fault, any of it. He had his ship sunk and his crew murdered in cold blood. He’d been imprisoned and threatened and knocked out over and over again for months. And now he was going to die and for what? Did any of it even matter? Not Greg, nor him, nor anything that he’d done in the past months. It was all for nothing, if their mediocre and risky plan didn’t work. 

“What are you thinkin’ about lad?” John asked quietly. 

Tom shook his head, “Heaven. Hell. I don’t know. Have you ever been condemned before?”

“All pirates are condemned.”

“I’d love to have a philosophical discussion with you about the moral code of pirates and whether or not they deserve to be hanged in any decent port they dock in, but I don’t think I can have that with you right now.”

John chuckled, “Philosophical discussions? You really are a fancy man. Don’t know much by way of philosophy, but I do know life. Yer set to die come a few days from now. And if the captain has his way, it’s more’n likely he’ll kill Greg too. If he can.”

“How do you know that?”

“Every time he has an opportunity to do so, I think it’ll be the time. The boy’s days are numbered, more than any of ours. I’ve never seen a father so dead set on killin’ his own boy. Blames the boy for a lot I suppose.”

“I overheard you,” Tom admitted. Time was running out. What was John going to do? Kill him? Punish him? It didn’t matter what he did anymore.“The other night. Talking about Greg and I. I don’t know who you were talking to, but I heard you say how I would go back to London. You’re right. I would. But it’s not going to matter.”

“That’d be well within your rights. Yer a free man, with a woman back on shore.”

“And I know that you care about him so it’s only fair that I tell you that I know how he feels about me. I wouldn’t do it to be mean. But it won’t matter.”

“Exactly,” John looked unsurprised, “Won’t matter.”

“Who’s Marianne?”

John turned several shades of red, and sputtered something that Tom thought was French, and probably not very polite before replying, “That’s none of yer business either lad.”

Tom laughed, “Just making conversation.”

“Don’t you go tellin’ people ‘bout that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I am sorry you won’t see her again,” John said, and Tom imagined he was probably thinking about his own _Marianne_ whoever she was and wherever she was, “I’m sorry.”

Tom shook his head, “I don’t need your apologizes.”

They both turned to look at whoever was coming down the stairs. He expected Jim or Fred, or maybe even Greg, but it was the captain himself. John straightened a bit, but Tom stared right back at him. It was a pathetic display on his own part, but he didn’t care.

“We’re setting off in an hour or so,” Captain Hirsch said, “If you’ve got goodbyes, you should say them now.”

Tom nodded, “I hope that the curse kills you.”

Captain Hirsch laughed, “Grown a pair have we? Think that it won’t matter now that I’m going to kill you? Watch yourself Mr. Wambsgans.”

“You’re always threatening me. Threatening everybody. But you _can’t_ kill me until you’re done with me. So what are you going to do? Throw me overboard? Cut out my tongue? Why don’t you just fucking do it?”

All three of them fell silent. John looked distinctly pale, and glanced back and forth between them, but Tom didn’t care what happened. He was as angry as he’d ever been. For months he’d been the captain’s tool, had played nice in the hopes that _somehow_ he’d be able to live? Now all he could see was rage.

“I’ll kill him first,” Captain Hirsch smiled, and Tom was reminded of a shark, eyeing it’s pretty, “I’ll force you to watch me kill him first. Do you want that?”

It was his only threat left. Tom knew that the captain was running out of threats because Tom had only one weak spot left-- Greg. 

“Do you?” Captain Hirsch asked, “It doesn’t matter to me. One or the other. But if you don’t behave yourself, I will have Jim force your eyes open and I will slit his throat and let him bleed out in your lap. Be upstairs in five minutes. No longer.”

Captain Hirsch turned on his heels, leaving Tom gaping after him. 

“Lad?” John tried.

“I have a pile of letters in my desk drawer,” Tom said, shaking his head, “Assuming I die, will you mail them for me? There’s addresses, both in London. One to Siobhan Roy, the other to Evelyn Wambsgans. I’d like them to know what happened. Will you do that?”

“Aye,” John whispered, “I’ll mail them for you lad.”


	22. into the jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang makes their way to the island center, and Tom and Greg have a very important talk about swooning, and the Arthurian legend.

It was brutally hot on the island. Even Tom, who was not affected by the land, felt feverish and uncomfortable from the sun in his linen shirt. He hoped that trudging into the trees-- it was a jungle proper now-- would help, but it was only slightly cooler. The five of them marched on, Tom and Greg in the middle. Tom knew that if he made even the slightest attempt to move, that Jim would probably shoot him.

Tom had expected the ship to dock, but the captain, his cronies, Tom, and Greg had set off in a row boat, a blindfold over his eyes. Tom thought that was overkill, but he let Captain Hirsch have his show of power. Greg hadn’t said a single word since they started walking, and Tom wasn’t going to make conversation. Ever since they’d set foot, Jim had his finger on his musket trigger, probably, Tom imagined, with orders to shoot at the first sign of any treachery. 

The compass remained on north, but that was apparently fine, as it was towards the center of the island. Every so often, Captain Hirsch paused, and made Tom confirm they were heading in the right direction. But now that they were on the island, Tom’s usefulness was all but gone. 

“How are you holding up?” he asked during one of their pauses, breaking the horrible quiet between them. Tom took the compass to confirm they were going the right way, and the captain and Fred made several marks on their map.

“I’m fine,” Greg said, though he sounded like it was physically painful to talk. Tom put a hand on his face, and frowned, “I’m fine.”

“You look awful.”

“Always a flirt,” Greg said weakly. 

“Still making jokes? Can’t feel that poorly then can you?,” Tom shook his head, “I’ll keep an arm ‘round you and you can lean on me if you feel like you need to. You’re like a willow tree, all bendable and far too tall, but I think I can manage.”

“Why is the captain not ill?” Tom asked, but Greg was clearly not processing his words very well, and frowned at him instead of answering.

“What?” 

“Never mind,” Tom shook his head. It wasn’t worth the effort to try and get information out of Greg just now, “Just focus on staying upright huh? I don’t think I’d like to carry you through these trees. You’re all leg.”

Greg laughed, and then winced. He paused to steady himself and Tom tightened his grip. If he had to carry all of Greg’s weight he’d just do it. He was not going to fall behind.

Tom shook his head, “Sorry.”

They continued their trek. The sun made its way across the sky, taking some of the heat, but none of the humidity with it. 

“Are we meant to continue all night?” he called, “It’s getting dark.”

In a way, he did want to continue all night. He wanted this over with, and if that meant walking all night, then that’s what it meant, but he didn’t think Greg could go much longer without a break, and he was already unsteady in the light, it would be much worse in the dark.

“We’ll set up camp in a bit,” Captain Hirsch called back, without bothering to turn around, “I want to get as close to the center tonight as we can, to save us time in the morning.”

“Wouldn’t want to waste any of our precious time,” Tom muttered, careful to keep his voice low enough that the captain wouldn’t hear. His threat had, well his threat had _worked._ Fuck him, for it, but it had worked. Tom couldn't exactly stop running his mouth, but he could keep it so the captain wouldn’t hear. It felt like the best compromise, “Will you be alright till then?”

“Yes,” Greg said, sounding deeply unsure, “I’ll be alright.”

“Just,” Tom took a deep breath, “Just hold on to me.”

“I think that I would probably faint if I didn’t,” Greg replied, and chuckled weakly, “You’ve made me swoon.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “You’re no proper lady Gregory. I don’t know if _swooning_ is even possible for you. I think it’s just regular old fainting.”

“I don’t know if there’s a gendered aspect to swooning,” Greg argued. Tom thought perhaps the conversation was distracting him from how poorly he felt, and therefore, Tom would discuss it ad nauseam, “I think it just requires one very handsome party.”

“Oh?” Tom replied, “Are you an expert in swooning now? What makes you qualified there?”

“Well,” Greg either blushed from embarrassment, or because of the heat. Tom wasn’t quite sure, but thought it was likely the former, “I mean, I think you’re swoon worthy Tom.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “And I’m the flirt? Christ almighty. We’re off to meet our death and you go for _swoon worthy?_ Are you perhaps Guenivere? Juliet?”

“Does that make you Arthur?” Greg shook his head, “You definitely don’t get to be King Arthur Tom. Or Romeo.”

“I’m Lancalot,” Tom said, “That was Guineivere’s lover. Arthur was her husband. Don’t you know your Arthurian legend Greg?”

“Tom, no offense, but do you think I look like someone who knows their Arthurian legend?”

Tom laughed-- too loud, because the Captain turned back to glare at him. 

“We’ll set up camp here for tonight,” he said firmly, “It’s getting late.”

If Tom remembered _his_ Arthurian legends right, it was Lancalot’s love for got him into trouble in the end. Tom glanced at Greg, who had found a log to sit on and ran a hand over his face. Well, it couldn’t be said that Greg was _quite_ the same as Guinivere, but he thought maybe he could see poor Lancelot’s point of view on the matter. Where did love-- he couldn’t believe that’s what word had come into his mind. He did _not_ love Greg. Affection was a better word. Where did affection end and loyalty begin? Was Shiv his Arthur? Who did he belong to in the end? The man he’d come to think he might die for, or the woman he loved back home? 

But then again. Lancelot didn’t have such a predicament like this. It was a little more complicated for him. 

Tom’s decision was made for him after all, because when his death came, that would be it.


	23. you're going to die tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom listens to the captain talk.

Tom eyed the captain and his henchmen across the fire. Jim and Fred paced, muskets on their shoulders. The captain poked at the fire, judging the meat he was roasting. He had not offered either of them dinner, but Tom wasn’t sure he could keep anything down, as nervous as he was and Greg didn’t look particularly hungry. 

“You’re not sick,” Tom said, “On the land. You look fine. Why?”

Greg was recovering from his initial upset, but Tom still thought he looked poorly. He was shivering despite the heat, and Tom slid out of his jacket and placed it over his shoulders. Greg gave him a thankful smile. 

“It’s a finicky curse,” Captain Hirsch mused. He stabbed at the meat with his dagger, and considered it, “It’s a _Roy_ curse. When it senses Roy blood, it latches itself to that poor soul. I’ve got a headache, and I’ll be a bit unsteady on my feet. But so long as he’s nearby, I’m not too sick. It’s why I couldn’t dump him on his mother. She would probably not have survived taking the full brunt. She’s more Roy than him, it would have chosen her. The damn woman can’t even be _cursed_ right. The boy wouldn’t stay, no matter what I tried. And believe me, I tried.”

“You’re a fucking monster,” Tom snarled, “A right bastard.”

The captain seemed unbothered by this. He had most likely been called worse. Likely, he had.

“Tom?” Greg asked quietly, and Tom thought he sounded utterly pathetic, “Can I move closer to the fire, next to you? I’m freezing.”

Tom moved over, and after a moment, Greg settled his head down in Tom’s lap. Tom swallowed and pressed down a vision of the captain’s earlier threat, of Greg bleeding out, throat cut, gasping and clawing for air. He could almost _see_ the blood coloring the sand and he shook his head just a bit.

“I don’t understand,” Tom began, “You’re _pirates._ Get men to go on land for you. You both need never leave the boat. It’s a hindrance, surely, but you could work around it. You’re a smart man Captain.”

“Doesn’t a man have a right to land and sea? Why should I be stopped from visiting every port, every harbor? I didn’t agree to having my rights stripped when I swore marriage vows in front of God and man. I didn’t even want to marry her.”

“Then why did you?” Tom asked, and the captain glared at him, “Oh come now, I’m a dead man walking. You won’t tell me?”

“Isn’t marriage our duty? I was a merchant before this. Agreed to a marriage with the wealthiest man in the city’s daughter because it was an opportunity. You’re a wealthy young man. You can understand it. I’d imagine your would be lady wife comes with a large dowry and a larger inheritance. That, coupled with the position and privilege granted to you by her father and the smuggling doesn’t seem so bad now does it.” 

Tom did not like how the words landed in front of him. Did not like how true they rang. He wanted nothing in common with this man who treated his own son as disposable, who’s crew cowered when he walked by. 

“Wouldn’t you do the same thing, in my shoes? Your marriage to Siobhan would have condemned you to a life on the land. The sea is in your veins too. Wouldn’t you try anything to get your life back?”

“Not murder,” Tom said firmly. 

But he didn’t know that. 

He tried to place himself in Captain Hirsch’s shoes. What would he do, finding himself condemned to a life on the waves? Unable to stay on dry land for more than a few days at a time? He liked to think that the bad things he’d done in his life were necessary for his own survival. He didn’t have children of his own, that was true, but even if he did, Tom was sure he would not be willing to give them up. He would not be willing to give up his parents. To give up Shiv.

(He was not willing to give up Greg. This, he decided was true.)

If anything, he’d give himself up for his loved ones. He’d be unhappy about it. And before all of this, Tom would have given almost anyone up to save his own skin. But then he’d lost his crew, and sometimes he still thought he should jump over the side of the boat and pay for it. Then he’d had his death dangled in front of him, and didn’t seem to mind it as much as he should have. 

“Not murder?” Captain Hirsch shook his head, “You don’t know that. You can never know that ‘till you’re presented with it. You don’t know what you’d be willing to give up to be free again. You are not as good a person as you are pretending to be.”

Tom had already given Greg up once, in a way, in his terrible and failed escape attempt. If Tom _hadn’t_ been caught, he thought that the captain might have killed him over it. But Tom hadn’t been thinking about that at the time, because Tom didn’t care. Greg was his friend, sure, but he had been no more than that. His own life mattered more. Getting back to London, to his family, to his life, mattered more. He would not do it again for anything. 

Things were different now.

“I’d suggest you boys get a good night’s sleep,” Captain Hirsch said. He tossed the reminder of his dinner into the fire and stood up, “You’re going to die tomorrow.”

He ducked into his makeshift tent and the only sound Tom could hear was his own heart beat. It was his constant companion all these months. 

“Greg?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you feeling any better?”

Tom helped him sit up and put a hand on his cheek. He didn’t feel overly feverish, and Tom was grateful for that. He was no good with medicine, and besides, he didn’t think medicine would work on something like this.

“I’ll be alright,” Greg said, “I will. Tomorrow it won’t matter. I’m sorry you got pulled into this.”

Tom shrugged, “I suppose it was an adventure, if nothing else. If I could change things-”

“I know.”

They were so close now. Even in the darkness, with only the firelight, he could see Greg’s features well. The air smelled like smoke and greenery. He brushed a gentle thumb across Greg’s cheek. 

“Would you like to play the question game?” he whispered. A bird called somewhere in the trees. Neither of the two playing guards seemed to care much what they did, and Tom knew it didn’t matter if they did care. 

Greg smiled weakly, “You go first.”

“Would you kiss me?” It was all meant to make Greg laugh. He wasn’t sure how else to do it. They hadn’t so much as _spoken_ about the night they saw the ghost ship, and the idea of kissing Greg had been on his mind, but he hadn’t acted on it. There had been too much else to do, and the fear of the captain finding out was a very real one. It had been a silent understandment to keep that one night a secret, to ignore that it had happened. But Tom didn’t want to anymore. 

He wanted to hold Greg and kiss him and everything else that came with it. For as long as he had left to do so.

Greg was the one to close the distance between them, one hand on the back of Tom’s neck, his touch feather light and unsure. But it was a hungry, frantic kiss. Like it was the end of the world, and if things went bad tomorrow, it _would_ be the end of the world. 

Maybe Greg felt like he did.

“I think it’s your turn,” Tom practically gasped, when they pulled apart. Greg had not let go of him, but was holding him-- clinging to him, “That was my question. I did very much like your answer. But it’s not fair if you don’t ask one.”

“Can we kiss again?”

Tom laughed, “a waste of your turn. You needn’t even ask.”


	24. dead men tell no tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg takes a stand

The morning dawned bright and warm. They packed up camp and made their way inland. Tom’s stomach lurched with every step, and he didn’t speak, afraid he would be sick. The cave was at the center, as expected. Captain Hirsch took the compass back and tossed it aside. Further inside they went. Jim and Fred were ordered to stand guard. Tom though that perhaps the captain didn't want anyone intruding on this little murders. 

The cavern was giant, and every footstep echoed. The ocean seemed to meet the land in the center, but around it was every kind of jewel and gold imaginable. Even Tom was impressed by it. This cave was richer than any man on Earth. 

"Well, this must be the place," Tom muttered, but if Greg heard him, he couldn't tell.

"Alright then," the captain said, "Let's begin."

As if to make a show of it all, the captain forced Tom to his knees. It was useless to fight back. This was what it had all been leading up to. His execution warrant was signed, the blade was about to drop, and if he opened his eyes, he would see the reaper waiting for him. 

But at least he’d behaved well enough for Captain Hirsch not to make good on his last threat. Tom knew he was a coward, knew he was a horrible person, selfish and all that went with it, but Tom knew that if he had to watch Greg die he would go mad. And he wanted his last moments to be free of madness.

“You won’t even look death in the eyes,” Captain Hirsch muttered, “I didn’t take you for a craven.”

But Tom was not going to be baited into watching death inch towards him. He did not respond, and he did not open his eyes. He wished, briefly, that he could have locked eyes with Greg, but the captain was blocking him anyway. It wasn’t possible anyway. 

“Are you watching Greg?” Captain Hirsch asked, “You’ll be up next.”

The barrel of the gun was cold against his forehead. It was a change from the heat of the island. Tom _almost_ welcomed it. At least it would all be over. He would pay for it all in Hell, or Davy Jones’ locker, or whatever he was condemned to. There would be no more faces in the ocean of the crew he had lost, there would be no more call of the void. There would be none of that. Maybe it would be nice. Peaceful. 

Silent. 

A gun went off. Loudly. Tom’s ears rang. 

And even though he’d never been shot before, he was pretty sure he was supposed to feel something. He opened his eyes and looked up. The captain’s gun clattered to the ground, and he looked down in shock at the growing red stain on sleeve.

He turned, slowly, looking for the source of his injury. Tom seized the opportunity to stand, snatching the captain’s gun as he did. He backed up a bit.

And there was Greg. Fucking Greg still holding the smoking gun. He looked on the verge of either fainting or crying, Tom wasn’t sure, but his hands were shaking like mad.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Captain Hirsch said, like he was mildly impressed, “But there’s no more bullets in that gun. So what are you going to do now? Are you going to kill me Greg?”

“Yes,” Greg said, “I am.”

He looked back at Tom, who tossed the gun in a nice arc. Greg caught it-- almost dropping it in the process. Tom wondered if they should have practiced it more. He trained it on the captain.

“You won’t do it,” Captain Hirsch said. Tom didn’t think it was a good idea to taunt the son you’d raised in hate for his entire life, especially when he was armed, and you were already injured. But maybe Captain Hirsch was insane, “Put the gun down Gregory. I’m impressed at your courage, that’s true. Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”

“He’s bullshitting you,” Tom said, even though he had little doubt that Greg knew this.

“I know,” Greg said, “He’s been bullshitting me for years.”

Greg pulled the gun. Another crack echoed through the gave, and though the captain was turned away from him, Tom could see the blood splatter, decorating Greg’s white shirt. Greg shot again, even though Tom was sure that his first bullet had been true. One after the other-- it seemed excessive at this point, though Tom didn’t blame him. He didn’t know how many bullets had been in the gun, but Greg spent them all on his father.

Captain Hirsch fell to his knees, hit the ground and did not get back up. Tom bent down, but the captain wasn’t breathing, and he looked back up at Greg. 

“Where the fuck did you get that gun? I thought I was a dead man for sure.”

“It’s yours,” Greg said, “From when we boarded your ship. He always liked his trophies and I assume he was going to use it to kill you, but couldn’t find it when the time came and was too stupid to think about why. I swiped it while you were asleep last night. I thought I’d be caught. But he thinks-- he _thought_ \-- I was still a scared little boy. I’m good at fooling people about that now.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Does it matter now?” Greg carefully came over, and kicked the body with the toe of his boot, “He’s dead?”

“As can be.”

“It’s not over,” Greg said, “Not everything. We’re here, and I’m getting rid of this Goddamn curse if it kills me. Before it kills me.”

Tom, who was still processing the fact that he was not dead, that Greg had saved his life, nodded, and said nothing further. Greg seemed to be wearing a permanent grimace, like he was in pain, and trying not to be sick from it. His father’s death probably only added to the effects of the curse, but Tom had read stories about people doing great things under stress. Perhaps Greg was forcing himself to stay upright in order to get through this.

Footsteps ran in from the cave entrance. 

Jim and Fred, who were supposed to have been guarding, and probably staying out of the captain’s way, had decided the gunshot had summoned them. It was almost comedic, the way they all stared at each other. Tom could see the wheels turning in their heads, figuring out that their captain was dead, by Greg’s hand. 

“It’s yours,” Greg said. He put the pistol down carefully and held his hands up. He was still shaking, probably, Tom thought, from the shooting as well as the general weakness he had on land, “The gold. Tom and I will leave it all to you, so long as you don’t kill us. The Captain’s dead. He’s not going to take it from you any more. And we don’t want it.”

Tom had to applaud Greg’s quick thinking. 

“That’s right,” He added, “You’ll never get a better deal than that. There’s millions of dollars in gold and jewels here. All this, in exchange for our lives. Two lives of people you don’t care much about.”

“ _Or,_ ” Jim leveled his musket at Tom’s chest, “I could shoot ya both and it’d be ours anyway.”

Greg gave him a look that said _fair point,_ but Tom was not willing to concede this. Death had the door shut in its face and was knocking to get back in, but Tom was going to figure it out.

“You can’t carry it all,” Tom said, “Greg and I can help you. You don’t have to go back to the ship, but even so, this loot’ll give you all the power you want. And then you can kill us after. It’s a smart business move gentleman. You never kill someone if they’re still useful.”

Perhaps he was being too condescending to the two men with the muskets, but Greg had saved his life by killing his own father, the least Tom could do was try and talk their way out of this. 

Jim and Fred exchanged a look, and Jim lowered his gun, “You two stand there. Fred, keep yer eyes on ‘em while I look at this gold.”

Tom hadn’t taken many of Logan’s lessons to heart, but there really wasn’t much money _couldn’t_ get including, apparently, their lives. So long as the story Greg’s grandfather told was true. So long as it went like he hoped it would.

Greg reached back for him, slowly, and Tom squeezed his hand. 

“Lots of gold isn’t it,” Tom called, “Exciting.”

“I feel like you’re making this worse,” Greg muttered. A very pained expression crossed his face, and he nearly doubled over. Tom held him upright, “I’m alright.”

“You’re going to have to be,” Tom eyed Fred-- or rather Fred’s musket, “For just a little bit longer.”


	25. all that glitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom thinks they've found their loophole, and Greg meets a familiar face.

Things happened very slowly. Tom felt like he was watching it from outside of his body. 

Jim _screamed._ Like the legions of hell were descending upon him before their very eyes. Fresh whipped around, and though Tom knew it would have probably been the perfect time to make a move, but the scene in front of him was hottific enough to get all of his attention.

Tom had never quite seen something like this happen to someone. He wasn’t sure _what_ was even happening. It looked as if all of the blood was draining from Jim’s body, all of the muscle shrinking, and the skin aging. But all in the span of about thirty seconds. The golden chalice in his hand fell to the ground with a clatter, scattering across the stone floor. 

“What the fuck?” Greg whispered, “Tom?”

“Does it look like I might know what this is about?,” Tom shot back.

Greg stared in horror but didn’t reply.   
The thing, Tom had learned, about Jim and Fred was that they were all bulk and no brain. They stuck with Captain Hirsch because he paid them well and let them rough up the crew. He treated them alright-- probably nicer than he’d treated Greg, that was for sure. 

So that was why Tom kept his mouth clamped tight when Fred went over to kick at Jim’s body. When he bent down to examine the _mummified_ corpse. 

When he picked up the chalice.

“Alright, even I wouldn’t have done that,” Greg whispered, maybe to make himself laugh, maybe to make Tom laugh. Either way it didn’t matter. Tom pressed down a nervous giggle. He was suddenly grateful to the captain of all fucking people for keeping all of the information to himself. Tom didn’t know if it was selfishness, or a need for power, or _what_ but he sent a silent thank you to Captain Hirsch, who he hoped was burning for all of the cruelness he had inflicted on his son, for being a tyrant and keeping shit to himself.

Fred didn’t melt, or deflate, or whatever it was that had happened to Jim. Instead, he clutched his chest, and fell back into the water with a splash. It echoed, for a moment, and then the cave fell silent. Tom could hear his own breathing, could hear Greg breathing next to him, and nothing else.

“Well shit,” Tom said, putting his hands on his hips, “Shit. I thought we were going to die?”

“I’m not sure we haven’t Greg muttered. He pulled away from Tom, not harshly, but gently, and made his way over to the captain’s body. 

“So I think,” Greg bent down and dug around his father’s coat before pulling out a small dagger. Like he’d known it was there and he probably had, “That was probably a proper sacrifice.”

“Three of them. A bit of overkill if you ask me.”

“So,” Greg continued. Tom watched him press the blade to his palm and hold his hand out over the gold. The blood dripped down, falling in drops on the shiny metals, “This is all that's left.”

Nothing happened. He and Greg exchanged a look, but Tom knew nothing more and shrugged. 

_Please God,_ he thought, _Don’t let us be wrong now. Don’t let it all be for nothing._

“This is kind of anti climactic,” Tom said.

As if on cue-- Tom cursed his stupid big mouth-- the pool of water in the middle rippled. Greg took a step back, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tom now. He had nearly tripped backing up, and Tom put out a hand to steady him. He was already shaky enough, and Tom didn’t need him collapsing.

“Greg?”

“I don’t know,” Greg shook his head, staring at the bubbling water, “Probably it’s bad.”

“Oh you think?”

The surface of the water broke. Just bubbles, at first, like a diver coming up for air. For one horrible, sick moment, Tom expected to see Fred’s corpse pull himself out of water and back onto the surface, like some horrific undead creature. Tom did not want to fight the dead. There had been so many deaths over the past few months for the dead to start coming back.

But it wasn’t Fred. It was a woman. She did not look like a corpse submerged in water for God knows how long _should_ have looked. She wasn’t bloated or even pale, though her lips had a slight blue tinge to them. But that was too be expected. There couldn’t have been air down there. 

She struggle, getting herself out of the water, and after a brief glance at each other, Tom went over and offered her a hand. 

“Thank you,” she said, and thought her voice sounded like she was still underwater. When she spoke, water dripped out of her mouth, the way a near drowning victim might cough water up from their lungs. She brushed off her skirt-- the fashion, Tom thought, was dated, though he couldn’t quite place. At least thirty years old and probably more. And it was fancy as well. Likely silks and linens, though it was waterlogged now. 

And she looked sort of familiar. Like he’d seen her before. Or someone like her, a sister or a daughter. 

Actually, he realized, she looked a bit like Shiv.

“You’re Rose,” Greg said softly, voicing a thought Tom was close to figuring out himself, “Logan and Ewan’s sister.”

Rose peeked past Tom to see who had spoken, “Who are you?”

“I’m Greg. Gregory if you will. Uh. I’m Ewan’s Grandson.”

Rose shuffled past Tom, he heels clicking on the stone, and a trail of water in her wake. She went over to Greg, and though he towered over her, Tom thought he was probably very intimidated by her. 

“You came here to break the curse,” Rose said matter-of-factly, “Didn’t you.”

“We came, uh ma’am, respectfully to try,” Greg waved around the cavern. Tom could excuse some of Greg’s distinct inability to talk to people normally to being raise on a pirate ship, but even Tom was a bit embarrassed by it. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes and smile though. 

“Who’s the other man?” she asked, glancing back at Tom.

“That’s uh, Logan’s daughter’s fiancé,” Greg replied, “It’s a family affair.”

“No offense Miss Roy,” Tom said. How was he going to explain _any_ of this to his family in London? “But do you know if the curse is broken?”

“Not yet,” she said firmly. Tom could see it the family resemblance even more now, and he felt a pang of guilt, a pang of _something_ over Shiv and the months they had spend a apart. How she must think him dead or worse, run off with somebody else. 

But wasn’t that what he’d done, technically? He stole a glance at Greg, who, he discovered, was looking at him.

“How will we know?” Greg asked. 

Rose smiled, “You’ll know.”

The water bubbled again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to get another chapter out later today to make up for yesterday's non post! but maybe not lol we'll see. Thanks as always!


	26. encore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg face a final challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised earlier!

“No offense ma’am,” Greg said, “But what does that mean?”

“I’m so sorry dear boy,” Rose frowned and Tom thought she did seem _genuinely_ sorry. Perhaps her brothers had become cold after her death. Perhaps she had always been kinder than them.   
She frowned, and put a hand on Greg’s face, “You don’t look like your grandfather.”

Then she looked down at the captain’s body, and back up at Greg.

“Oh,” she said sadly, “Good luck boys. I wish it wasn’t this way.”

They watched as she slinked back against the cavern walls, and Tom only blinked for her to disappear beneath the water again. He wasn’t sure if she was a spirit of some sort or undead. Rose Roy was dead, this was true, but she wasn’t transparent like a ghost, wasn’t mindless like some sort of creature. 

“Tom?”

“Again Greg, I promise you I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

He backed away from the water, and went over to Greg. Still, he knew that they could die, and if they were going to, he was going to die next to Greg. It didn’t even seem to matter much anymore really, but he could sure have a say in that.

“I suppose she didn’t want to to stick around for the festivities,” Greg muttered. 

Though Tom loved a good horror story as much as any other, and though the seas were full of sailors who’d be willing to tell you a tale to make your skin crawl for no more than a pint of ale and an ear to listen, he had firmly decided he did not like living in a horror story.

Whoever it was-- _whatever_ it was-- perhaps was human once, but unlike Rose, who looked more like a woman who had been pulled from the sea and shaken back to life, this looked like a bloated, water logged corpse that had been decaying for… God knew how long. 

Vulture’s story about the _Flying Dutchman_ would pale in comparison to this story, should they live to tell the tale. That still feels up in the air right now. Perhaps he’d gotten too cocky when they had managed to kill the captain. When _Greg_ had managed to kill the captain and when Jim and Fred’s own stupidity had taken care of them.

It was his own fault for thinking he might be able to live. Might be able to see his family again. Might not have to watch Greg die.

The corpse, whatever sort of creature it was, succeeded in pulling itself out of the water with little trouble, which didn’t bode well. Rose needed help despite looking fairly intact, and this thing looked like a light wind might blow it apart, had no issue.  
But that wasn’t all, because behind it came Fred, who’s body was intact, if a bit pale. Though it wasn’t him, exactly. Just his corpse. Tom and Greg both seemed to get the idea about the captain at the same exact time, though Captain Hirsch remained still and silent.

That was something, wasn’t it? 

“Who goes there?” it asked, which frankly Tom thought was a little cliche for an undead cave monster, but he wasn’t going to voice that. Perhaps it could be a nice anecdote in a story he hoped to live to be able to tell, “Who dares disturb this place?”

“Uh,” Greg said, “We were actually about to leave.”

Tom resisted the urge to smack him.

The creature stared at them. Tom realized that Greg had a hand on his arm, and his blood was soaking Tom’s shirt. He should probably bandage it. 

“Uh,” Greg began again, “We came here to break the curse. My family’s curse.”

“Your bloodline?” it asked. Tom felt a shiver go down his spine. He didn’t like talking to this undead being, and certainly didn’t like being at it’s mercy, “You wish to be free?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“The cost is high,” it said, “Will you pay it?”

“I mean,” Greg motioned to the bodies on the stone, “Sacrifice. Blood.”

“Mm,” it shrugged and Tom watched with a mix of horror and revulsion as it limped over, seeming to drag itself each step. Fred lingered behind, like some kind of horrible guard. Well, it worked in life, why not in death? 

Tom did not know the person that the creature might have been once upon a time. In fact, he thought that even if he had known them, they were so disfigured that he wouldn’t have known anyway.

It should have smelled of rot, or death, but all Tom could smell was salt water and sea air. 

Much to Tom’s surprise, the creature stepped in front of him, and grabbed his chin. Tom, in a horrible moment debating between fighting and freezing, apparently chose to freeze. It examined him carefully, and Tom tried to stare back at it, only to discover that, up close, one of it’s eye was falling out of it’s head.

“Who is he to you?” it asked, and when Tom opened his mouth, it snarled at him to keep quiet, “ _I was speaking to the cursed one_.”

“Uh Greg, would you like to answer him?” Tom muttered.

“He’s my best friend,” Greg said quickly, “He’s the only friend that I have ever had. Please don’t hurt him.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” it said, and Tom felt nails dig into the skin of his face. He had a brief thought that this _thing_ was going to snap his neck before he could do anything to stop it.

“You can’t hurt him,” Greg was frantic, though Tom thought he was doing a pretty good job of hiding it, all things considered, “Please.”

_Flesh. Bone. Soul. Blood._ The words from the journal echoed in his head. Surely the three men who were lying dead-- well two now, but still-- were a sufficient sacrifice. Surely the blood flowing from Greg’s palm was enough. 

“ _Why?_ ” it hissed.

“It’s alright Greg,” Tom said, before the grip on his face tightened and he was forced to stop talking. He hoped Greg knew that it was, truly, alright. If he were to die, well, that’s what he’d come here to do in the first place. John would mail his letters. Maybe Greg would even deliver the news to his family in person. 

“I did what I was supposed to do,” Greg argued. Tom wanted to tell him that arguing with an undead corpse was probably not going to be very effective, but he couldn’t, “I read the journal or whatever. You had your sacrifice and your blood.”

Greg held up his bloody hand as if to illustrate his point. 

“You don’t need to take him,” Greg said, “You can kill me instead.”

Tom tried to push the corpse off. Tom was willing to behave, but Greg was _not_ going to sacrifice himself for Tom. Not when he finally so close to behind free of his lifelong curse. Not when he was free of his tyrannical father, free of all of it. But it was supernaturally strong, and all of Tom’s struggle’s were useless.   
The corpse looked between the two of them, and then, suddenly, let Tom go. He stumbled back a bit and touched the new cuts on his chin. 

Greg looked as if he was bracing himself.

“You would give yourself for this man?” the corpse asked. 

“Yes,” Greg said. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he had some grand plan like Tom’s gun, and maybe he was serious. Tom couldn’t believe that though. Why should Greg want to die for him, “He has a life in London. My life is here, on the ocean and in this cave.”

The corpse cocked its head at the words, “That will suffice.”

Tom prepared to launch himself at it, to tackle it to the ground, to do _whatever_ in order for them both to walk out alive. But to his surprise, the corpse limped back to the water, stepped in, and disappeared. Fred’s corpse collapsed again. 

They were alone again.


	27. after the end of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg try to process what's just happened.

Tom glanced around, half expecting some beast to pop out of the water, half expecting the bodies to rise up, expecting something else to pull out of the water. But there was only silence. Tom’s favorite sound. 

Silence.

“Holy shit,” Greg said, his voice as shaky as his hands, “We’re alive.”

Tom had to agree with the phrasing. He was still coming to terms with it as well. Though it couldn’t have been more than a few hours since they had gotten to the center of the island, but Tom felt like several years of his life had passed in the time they’d been there. Actually, even though Tom had only been with the pirates for a couple of months, he felt like he would return to London to discover years had passed. Maybe Shiv would be married. His parents aged. 

He shook off the thought. It was stupid. The months had lasted long because they’d been traumatic. He glanced at Greg. 

Well, not all bad. Just _mostly_ bad.

Tom nudged Jim’s body with the toe of his boot, but there was no reaction. They were just dead. Plain old dead. Dead like Tom was supposed to be, like Greg was supposed to be. They had come to the island expecting to die there, but instead, there were three dead bodies, none of which were their own.

“Here,” Tom ripped a strip of fabric off of Jim’s body-- it wasn’t like the man would need it-- and went over to Greg, carefully wrapping his hand up. Greg winced slightly, but otherwise did not show if it hurt, “Don’t want you to bleed out now do we? You’re shaking.”

“I think I’m in shock.”

Tom gently kissed his hand and held it tightly, “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Greg said, “Healthy. I think you may have been right about the wording. Well, at least mostly right. Right where it counts in that we didn’t have to die. I didn’t have to die.”

“So now what?” Tom asked, “What do we do with them?”

“We should bring my father’s body back,” Greg said softly. It was one of the only times he’d ever referred to the captain like that, “If nothing else, the others deserve to know it’s over. The others can stay. Serve as a warning to those who might find this island perhaps. I don’t know. I don’t care really.”

“Right,” Tom nodded, “Makes sense.”

He could feel his heart racing as he ensured the makeshift bandage was tight. 

“Rose said that we would know,” Greg said, “I suppose when that… thing, said it was sufficient or whatever it was.”

“What the _fuck_ is the matter with you?” Tom hissed. His anger seemed to have been delayed, “Don’t you _dare_ ever offer to die for me again.”

“Stupid,” Greg shook his head and smiled, “It was the right thing to do.”

“No it wasn’t. I’m a man myself. I don’t need you to protect me at your own expense. What was I meant to say when I got back on the ship and I was accosted by several full fledged _pirates_ who think of you as their own boy about why I was alive and you were not? I’d imagine I’d be shark bait all the same Gregory.”

“What about London?”

Tom ignored him. He felt too guilty to answer it truthfully, and didn’t want Greg to focus on that. He felt guilty about kissing him, but he did it anyway. Greg shook under his hands, and Tom thought he was probably shaking too. If their other kiss had been desperate, a last kiss before the end, this was hopeful, excited, thankful that they were both still alive.

“If you _ever_ try to sacrifice yourself for me again, I’ll never forgive you and then when I die and find you, you’ll suffer an eternity of my making you regret it. Understood?”

“Do you think it was going to kill us both?” Greg asked, clearly trying to avoid Tom’s question, “Like it was going to bring back the captain and Jim and kill us both? If I hadn’t said that?”

Tom replayed the scenario in his head again. It seemed like Greg’s idea made sense. Why Rose had been so sorry. Why it has asked what Tom was to Greg. Tom had to wonder if that thing confronted the Roy brothers after their sister’s death… or if it had been the thing that killed her. 

“You’re sure it’s gone?” Tom asked, “The curse?”

“I feel good. Different. More so than before, I can’t really explain it to you. But I think that everybody with it suddenly feels a little different. Well, at least those of us who have never known life without it.”

He thought about how he might tell Shiv that the curse had been broken.

And how he might ask her to explain why she’d never said anything about it before. She had to know. Surely she had to know. Was she going to tell him before the wedding?

He tried not to be angry when he thought about it. It was mostly possible to do so because he missed her so much, because it had been so long since he had held her, but he was going to ask for an answer. He knew that his marriage didn’t really entitle him to very much. She would have more money, he was dependent on her father’s good graces to ensure a job, and mostly he didn’t mind it, but he felt he was entitled to an explanation for this. 

“We should leave,” Tom said, “I don’t like this place. It’s terrible.”

“I agree,” Greg replied, “I’ll deal with him.”

Tom looked down at the body again. He wondered what kind of vengeance Greg was feeling. Was he happy that his father was finally dead? Satisfied that he was the one standing? Scared, like a little child, at the idea of it all.

“I’ll do it,” Tom said softly, “I’ll carry him. Your hand is bleeding and you can lead the way.”

“You’re sure?”

Tom nodded, “I’m sure.”


	28. a most daring rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom uses his old Navy skills to get them off the island.

It was just _typical_ that the rowboat meant to bring them close enough to land had a hole in it. 

“I’m sure the captain did it,” Greg said.

“You mind if I drop him?” Tom asked. 

“Be my guest.”

Tom let the body fall into the sand, facedown. Well, it wasn’t like it really mattered. He couldn’t see anything anyway.

“Probably back up in case his plan failed. So that we’d be stuck here and die. Goddamnit, even in death he’s fucking me over,” Greg said.

Greg had taken on a bitter tone, an _almost_ cruel tone. One Tom had not heard from him. It was, in all likelihood, an aftereffect of the fact that he had just shot his father. Tom put a hand on his arm, but Greg made no show that he even noticed. 

“Well there’s got to be another one hidden or something,” Tom said, “Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to get back. When they blindfolded us, they hitched another one or something.”

“I suppose we could scout around the island,” Greg reasoned, “But I’m not sure how large it is, and we’ve about half a flash of rum between us for nourishment. Don’t you know any Navy tricks for signaling a boat?”

It had, in truth, been many years since Tom had been a Navy man. He remembered some things, like tying knots and raising a sail purely because his body had not forgotten the motions. But it had been a long time since he’d needed to implement any sort of training. But Greg had just saved his life. Twice, technically, and was staring at him with a blood covered hand, over the corpse of his father. Tom owed it to him to rack his brain.

“I might be able to come up with something. Let me see the bag,” Tom said.

Greg dumped the knapsack on the floor and Tom emptied it into the sand. Most was useless. An empty flask, a map. Things that the captain wouldn’t need anymore, and that Tom doubted Greg had much sentimental value attached to. In fact, Greg was hardly paying attention to him. Instead, he was eyeing the ship, a hand help up to block out the sun. 

“Ah hah!” Tom exclaimed, “Victory.”

Greg glanced back, “I don’t get it. It’s… a shard of glass?”

“It’s a mirror,” Tom pushed himself off the ground, “Move your giant body out of the way would you?”

“What are you doing?”

“Little trick I learned. If I can angle this right, it’ll shine over, and if I can hit somebody, they’ll get a spyglass to look and see where it’s coming from and they’ll see us.”

“You learned that in the Navy?”

“Why is that so surprising?”

“I sort of thought the Navy was just boring marching and tying knots.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “You’re going to have to learn the ways of the real world now Greg. No more excuses about going on land. You’ll have to live like the rest of us.”

“That’s alright,” Greg chuckled, “I’m going to _run_ off this ship the next time we dock. I want to see forests and greenery and, well, things that are landlocked.”

“You’ve got a new lease on life,” Tom muttered, squinting at the sun. He hadn’t done anything like this in a long time, and even so, there’d been others around who were good to help. If this didn’t work, they’d have to split up and look for either some way to repair the _huge_ hole in the boat, or find the other boat they weren’t even sure existed. What if there was no food on the island? Did the crew have orders to come looking if they hadn’t heard from anybody in a while? Tom didn’t know and he didn’t know how long they had until then. There was no water and some part of Tom’s brain reminded him they could last about three days without water and they were on day two. Even rum or something would have sufficed, but the one flask they had with anything in it had perhaps five sips. 

The tension hung heavy in the air. Greg stared at him, maybe praying to whoever would listen that Tom could hit the sun at the right angle and make it to the ship.

“Did it work?” Greg asked, after several very anxious minutes.

“I don’t know,” Tom replied honestly, “The ship is far away. I don’t know if I can hit them.”

Greg looked between Tom and the ship and then back again, “Maybe you’re too short.”

“Oh we’re in a joking mood now I see,” Tom rolled his eyes, “I need this mirror otherwise I think I’d throw it at your head. It’s a big target.”

Greg laughed, and Tom felt a little better. Perhaps they _would_ be stuck here until the ship decided to come looking for them, or they could find a working rowboat to bring them out to sea. There were worse people to be trapped with, that was true. In fact, of all the people on the _Stag_ Tom thought Greg was who he’d choose to be marooned with. 

“Is it turning?” Greg asked, cocking his head a bit at the view. Tom wasn’t sure yet, but he hoped so. Regardless of the fact that Greg was the one he’d choose to be marooned with, Tom had begun to cling to the idea that he might be able to go back to London. Might be able to still have a life. He was so damn close, it would be horrible to lose it now. Death had left him be for the moment, that was true, but if Tom gave up, he’d see the Grim Reaper peek around the corner, ready to find him again.

“ _Yes,_ ” Tom gasped, “I think it worked.”

“Well God bless His Majesty’s Royal Navy boys. Guess they’re good for something after all,” Greg chuckled, and once Tom was certain that the ship was sailing back to the island, he chucked the mirror at Greg’s shoulder with a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why yes i _did_ steal this mirror trick from outlander and no i _don't_ know if it would work in real life but this is historical fantasy so its ok


	29. the old king is dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who takes over when the old king is dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally have a full chapter count! it could change a bit but i wanted to give you guys an idea of about how much is left

Greg dumped the captain’s body on the deck, and everyone stared at it. Tom couldn’t quite read their faces, but they ranged from mile shock to a kind of grim satisfaction. 

“The ol’ bastard got what was comin’,” Vulture said gruffly, “Ain’t no two ways about it.”

Tom had mostly expected this reaction. The only two who were benefiting much from Captain Hirsch were Jim and Fred, but they weren’t benefiting from much at all anymore, except perhaps a nice place in Hell. 

“What do we do with him?” Henry piped up, “Greg?”

Greg frowned, “I don’t care. Wrap him in a sheet and throw him overboard. It was always his favorite threat after all. I don’t give a shit what you do, but I don’t want to see him anymore. I never want to see the fucking bastard again.”

There was a sort of numbness to Greg’s voice, as if he was distinctly separate from the situation. If the others noticed it, they did not show it, but Tom didn’t particularly like it. Sure, Greg was probably glad his father was dead, but when the old king dies without a named successor… who takes his place? And how do you move on from such a tyrannical reign?

“I’ll be,” Greg waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the captain’s quarters, “Around.”

“Aye,” John said softly, and watched Greg go, stopping, only once, to pick his father’s tri-corner hat off the deck where he must have fallen earlier and take it with him. The others looked at Tom.

“What?” He asked, staring back.

“Someone’s got to go with the boy,” John prompted, “See if he’s alright.”

“Oh,” Tom glanced back, realizing that they were expecting this of _him_ , “I will.”

He trailed after Greg, and entered the room without knocking. Greg sat at the desk and looked up. He looked out of place at his father’s desk, with his father’s things, in his father’s chair. The pair had looked like a father and son, the more Tom had looked at them. He hadn’t thought about it at first, not the way the captain treated Greg, but otherwise he probably would have picked up on it sooner. Greg hardly resembled his mother in the picture. What must Greg think when he looked in the mirror?

“Are you alright?” Tom asked cautiously. When Greg did not respond, he went around to the other side, and knelt down by the chair, so they were more eye level, “You don’t have to be if you don’t want to.”

“I'm fine,” Greg said. Tom was noticing it was a common theme for Greg to say he was fine, when he clearly was not.

“I don’t think I believe you,” Tom took one of his hands, “Come on. We’ve shared a great adventure. You can tell me. You’ve a right to not be fine. That was… it was intense. And he was your father after all.”

Greg brushed a thumb across his cheek and smiled, “He deserved what he got.”

“Well you won’t find me arguing with that,” Tom frowned, “You can be upset Greg.”

“I’m not. I think I’m in shock. I don’t know.”

Tom leaned forward and kissed his forehead, “They’ll ask you to be the captain.”

“You don’t _know_ that.”

“But they will. By the time you’re back out there, they’ll have had their vote. I’m certain of it. Do you want it?”

Greg considered this, and Tom imagined there was a lot running through his mind at once. Something that had once seemed so unattainable, so _impossible_ now sat in his lap, ripe for the taking. 

And he thought Greg would make a decent captain. He knew how a ship worked, knew how people ought to be treated. He’d practically played first mate to his father, at least from what Tom had seen over the past new months.

Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about the ways of the world, but there were others to show him. He already knew the ways of boarding a ship and keeping a prisoner, Tom knew that first hand. Why shouldn’t Greg be the captain? Why wouldn’t they want him? 

“Yes,” Greg whispered, “I do.”

“Then,” Tom stood up, and after a moment, he pulled Greg up with him, “ _When_ they offer it to you, you say yes.”

When he thought about it, Tom was almost jealous. He’d been a captain, once upon a time. It felt like a lifetime ago. He could have been a captain longer. But Logan Roy would never give him another position like that, not after he’d blundered it so spectacularly. He would be lucky to be trusted to bring a shipment to Southampton unchaperoned. Logan didn’t take kindly to those who lost him money, and Tom had done that very well. Greg might be gaining a captaincy, but Tom was going back to a ruined career and maybe a ruined engagement.

He pushed the jealousy down. It wasn’t Greg’s fault. Not really. There were a lot of people he wanted to blame, including himself, but maybe not Greg. 

“Wait a moment,” Greg held him back, “I don’t want to go out yet. I’m not… I’m not ready.”

“Yes you are,” Tom said firmly, “You can put it off all day Greg, but you have to face this. If you want to be the captain, then you have to go and _be_ the captain. They want to know what happened, and why your father is cold and lifeless on the deck. They want to know why you and I are still alive? You have to show them now that you are already a million times better than your father. Right?”

Greg nodded, “Right.”

“And that starts today,” Tom said firmly. He wasn’t sure if he was being particularly helpful, and he didn’t know if Greg even wanted him to talk, but he had to do something, “The old king is dead, Gregory. Do you know what the rest of that saying is?”

Greg shook his head. 

“The old king is dead. Long live the king.”


	30. broken-hearted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom reminds Greg of his life in London, and the promises he's made

“So what now? World’s our oyster huh?”

“I’m not staying,” Tom said quickly. His stomach turned at the idea that Greg thought he was staying, especially because Tom knew it was his fault. He had to have misled Greg, made him think otherwise. But he’d also said, several times, that if he wasn’t dead at the hands of Captain Hirsch, he was going to go back to London. Did Greg think he was joking? “Surely, you didn’t think I’d stay. I told you as much a hundred times.”

Greg stared at him, “I thought-well after _everything._ I thought you’d have changed your mind.”

“Well what did you expect from me?” Tom said, throwing his hands up in defeat, “That I’d give it all up and live a life of swashbuckling revelry with you? We almost _died._ Wouldn’t you jump at the chance to live a normal life. And besides, I’m engaged-”

“I’ve heard.”

“I have a life in London. I have no right to give it up and run away to the sea. That’s childish. It’s my job as a man, as a fiancé, and as a son.”

Greg nodded, resigned, “We’ll stop at the nearest port and restock the supplies and you can find a ship going that way. You can send a letter ahead if you like. If the weather is favorable, you’ll be back in time for your _wedding._ ”

“I care about you Greg. I do. I- well, I don’t know how I couldn’t. But I can’t do what you want me to. I can’t give you what you want. Maybe if things were different-”

“I know,” Greg frowned.

“You could come to the wedding if you like.”

“I don’t imagine that London society would like that very much. Besides, I’m sure there’s a price on our heads,” He shook his head, “We’ll get you home, Tom. If that’s what you like.”

He thought that perhaps Greg was trying to guilt him into something. But considering the fact that up until a few days ago, Tom had fully expected to be dead by now. How could he have seen himself somehow coming out alive and on top? Maybe it had been the actions of a condemned man that had led him to kiss Greg, to say all those things. 

He didn’t think so though. Not really. 

There had been a silent agreement, within himself, that should they pull off the impossible, he would sort it all out. Decide where his loyalties and duties lay. And it should have been an easy answer. They were in London with his life, with his future. Greg should have been… well, whatever Greg should have been, the right choice was London. That was the best thing to tell himself. London had his parents, had Shiv, had the life he was meant to return to months ago. His _place_ was in London.

He wanted greatly to go and comfort him-- for Greg looked very hurt. But he had a duty to Shiv. To the life he had been ripped from. It was not Shiv’s fault that all of this had happened. It would be deeply unfair to leave his family to mourn him when he was alive and well. Greg may be able to leave the people on land behind, but he couldn’t. 

They stared at each other for a moment, as if daring the other to speak. Tom would not be the one to break the impasse. After several terribly long moments, Greg turned on his heel and left. And Tom, who had never been snubbed before-- because that’s what was happening really-- didn’t know exactly how to feel. It felt as if Greg had just ended their relationship, which was _ridiculous._

Tom stood there for several moments. Greg did not return-- though somehow he still hoped-- and Tom realized several people were staring. He stalked back to his room, rather than speak to any of them about it. What business was it of thiers? They all knew Greg was going to have his heart broken anyway. They could take care of him after Tom was gone, just like they’d been doing. 

Someone knocked at his door.

“Greg, let’s not make this anymore dramatic than it needs to be eh?”

“It’s not Greg,” John said, “Let me in would you lad?”

“Oh,” Tom went over to pull the door open, “Sorry. I thought-”

John held up a hand to stop him, “I know. Can I come in?”

Tom stood back to let him, “if you’re here to berate me I really don’t want to hear it. I’m going back to London.”

“I know. I’m not here to change your mind lad. Yer a free man, and you’ve a right to do as ye please.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Ye can’t pretend you don’t care for the boy. You don’t me so yerself,” John shook his head, “I don’t know it all and ye don’t have to tell me but I’m here to tell you the boy’ll be fine. Yer not the first to break his heart and ye won’t be the last.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh aye. I’m not here to judge. You’ve a woman back home. Is she pretty?”

“Beautiful. I love her. I miss her so much.”

“Then it’s all in good faith. We go where love takes us. Wherever that is.”

“I’m going to London,” Tom said firmly. He thought it was probably getting irritating at this point. 

“Aye. And we’re going to Canada. I’d imagine so at least. The boy misses his mother. We’ll get ye a place on a ship home lad, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

But that wasn’t true. He was worried about plenty of things. He was worried about how Shiv would react when she discovered he was not dead. He was worried about how much trouble he was in with Logan. He was worried that somehow he wouldn’t even make it to London. He was worried he’d never forgive himself for breaking Greg’s heart. 

“You have to make him know that I’m sorry,” Tom said, after several moments passed. John was waiting for him to say something, maybe to throw London out and agree to stay. Maybe not, “I don’t know if he’ll believe me.”

“Oh aye,” John nodded, “I’ll do what I can, lad. He knows.”

Tom knew he was doing the right thing. But why did it hurt so much?


	31. no place like london

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom reunites with his parents

First thing Tom did when he got to London was race home to see his parents. He knew that technically he was supposed to see Logan whenever he returned from a voyage, but since he’d already been so late, a few more hours wouldn’t matter. 

Sometimes Shiv teased him for how close he was to his parents, especially his mother, but he was their only child after all. She couldn't understand what that was like for them. It wasn’t their fault they were involved in his life, wasn’t their fault he wanted to keep close with them. 

Really, if he thought it over hard enough, he wanted to come back to London, mostly to see them. He loved Shiv, and looked forward to seeing her but, well, it was his parents doorstep he went to first. He wanted them to be the first to know that he was still alive and mostly unharmed.

There had been a lot of tears on all of their parts, and his mother kept touching him like he might vanish like a ghost. Frankly, he didn’t blame her. It didn’t feel real. Any of it. Like he would wake up back on the ship, all of this just a dream he’d had.

His mother fussed over how thin and tired he looked. She was, in his opinion, probably right. He _was_ excited to sleep on a bed on land, and to eat a home cooked meal. The past months were the longest time he’d spent on the ocean in several years and he’d forgotten what it felt like to be _home._

“What happened Tommy?” she asked, fussing over him at their dining room table. His father brought the tea and joined them, “We thought you’d been lost at sea. What happened?”

He took several sips of the tea and frowned, “The _Brightstar_ was boarded by pirates.”

His mother gasped, and glanced back at his father, “Pirates?”

Tom nodded. Actually, he was pretty lucky, all things considered. Another pirate ship might have killed him right off, had he not proved useful.

Another pirate ship and he’d never have met Greg.

He felt a pang of guilt. He had spent most of the voyage home avoiding thinking about Greg. It wasn’t easy, but he had to do it in order to get back to the way things were before. It wasn’t like he could tell anyone here about what he’d done. Even so, it felt… private. What he and Greg did and maybe what they could have been if things were different. 

“They kept me alive because I was useful to them,” Tom explained, “I don’t know if you’d even believe me if I told you everything Mama. But the captain, the one who’d boarded the ship died, and his successor let me come home. So here I am.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” his father said, “And we’re forever in the debt of the new captain who let you come home to us.”

Tom tried to imagine telling Greg this, how his parents were indebted to him. Greg wouldn’t know what to say. Probably call them Lord and Lady Wambsgans or something equally ridiculous. 

“Was it terrible Tom?” his mother asked, “Tell me truly.”

“Sometimes. But I’m alive, and I’ve all my limbs and wits about me. That’s what matters.”

He would not tell them about the captain’s threats, about the storm, about any of the horrors. Not that he thought they wouldn’t want to hear it from him, but because he didn’t want to burden his parents with that. Besides they would both-- though mostly it would be his mother-- have questions that Tom wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. It felt like most of the past months were still bouncing around his head. 

He _knew_ that he made a good choice coming home. How could he think otherwise when his mother had started crying and his father, a man he’d never seen cry, looked just as misty eyed. But he missed the sea.

Well. Missed _someone_ on the sea. He had to admit that missing Greg was a very big part of what he missed about the ocean. 

Time would help. Seeing Shiv would help. Being in London, his home, would help. But these were not concepts he could discuss with his parents. How would he even begin to explain it all to them? 

“I’m going to go and see Shiv,” he said quickly, suddenly needing space from his parents and answers from Shiv, “Have you spoken to her in my absence?”

Absence was a funny word. Like he’d been out of town. 

“We see her sometimes,” his mother said, sharing a look with his father that Tom couldn’t quote read, “But not all that often. I don’t imagine Mr. Roy is very happy with you, but I’m sure he’ll understand when you explain it all. It was out of your control after all. He’s a reasonable man, he’ll understand.”

Tom thought this was _deeply_ unlikely. True, he was probably not about to lose his job, but Logan didn’t care _why_ you lost the money, only that it had been lost. And it had been months with no answers. He imagined he was about to be relegated to the lowest rung of the company as penance. And he was only keeping his job because Shiv was, as far as he was aware, still engaged to him, and Logan wouldn’t fire him so long as that remained true. 

“You come back home after,” his father said firmly, like Tom was still a child. He didn’t really blame them, “Don’t keep your mother waiting for dinner tonight.”

“I will,” he stood and buttoned his coat, “I just have some things I need to talk to her about as soon as I can. I’ll be back long before dinner.”

He kissed both of his parents on the cheek, let his mother fuss over him again, and ducked out of the room, into the front hall, and back into London.


	32. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finally gets to see Shiv

Shiv had been shocked to see him, and after he had kissed her several times and confirmed she hadn’t married in his presumed death, he remembered what he wanted to ask her.

Briefly, he considered tossing the question out. Did it matter anymore? The curse was broken, and any marriage that was to take place would not condemn him to a life on land. It shouldn’t have mattered to him anymore because it wouldn’t affect him. It would be incredibly _easy_ to forget about his worries, and forgive her for not telling him. Tom was home, alive, and with the woman that he loved. Would asking start an argument? Perhaps even _Shiv_ didn’t know, and she’d grow angry with her father for keeping it from her. Maybe the reason that Shiv hadn’t told him about it was because she herself did not know.

Still, he wanted to ask. He didn’t like how it made him feel that she’d kept it to herself. It didn’t feel like a good and strong foundation for a marriage. If she didn’t know, so be it. But if she did, he wanted some kind of answer.

“I need to ask you something,” he said. 

She looked up, “I told you I’ll still marry you.”

“That’s not it. Why didn’t you tell me,” Tom said, “About the curse on your family. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

Shiv cocked her head, “How did you find out about that?”

Well, it sounded like she did know. That theory went out of the window.

“Does it matter? You should have told me. You _knew_ it would affect me.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You did. Kendall’s married is he not? Tell me why you kept that a secret.”

“Do we have to talk about this now?” she put a hand on his arm, “You just got home. I thought you were dead. There’s plenty of time to discuss this all. I missed you.”

“You did?”

“Of course I missed you,” She stood on her toes and kissed him again, “I thought that you were dead. When no one had heard from you, we assumed the worst.”

And he was still upset with her for not telling him such an important piece of information, but he had also missed her desperately. Missed the way her hands felt on his back, missed the softness of her hair on his chest. Missed her smile, missed her voice, missed all of her.

Her hand slipped lower, settled on his waist. He knew what she was doing, and he shook his head and took a step back. Her hand dropped to her side.

“What?” she asked, “Do you not want to right now?”

“It’s not that,” he said, frowning. He strode across the room and settled on the sofa. He needed to think, and he needed space between them. It was not fair to her if he didn’t admit what he had done. He would want to know and so he was going to tell her. And then they could properly reunite or whatever it was they were going to do, “When I was away, I, well you _said_ it would be alright if I, you know, had a little dalliance.”

“I meant it,” she sat down next to him, and flattened her skirt, but she kept a few inches of space between them, and for that, Tom was grateful, “You don’t have to be upset or worried about it. I knew what I was offering you.”

“So it’d be alright if I did. Dally.”

She nodded, “It would be.”

“Because I did.”

She smiled and took one of his hands in hers. She was still wearing the engagement ring he’d given her, all those months ago. He pressed a kiss to her left hand fondly. 

“It’s alright Tom,” she said, “I’m being honest with you. It’s alright. I don’t mind it one bit. That’s why I told you. It was a long time apart.”

“And I was wondering, well, did it go both ways? The little agreement?”

“It’d be deeply unfair if it didn’t.”

And she was right of course. It would have made Tom terrible to insist that he was allowed to fool around and she wasn’t. Shiv was a grown woman, and could do as she liked, _especially_ when her fiancé had a pirate in his bed. There was no way he had any right to say anything about what she did in London while he was away.

“No that’s fine,” He said, “But now that we’re getting married that’s done isn’t it? We’ll be together. I’ll take my punishment from your father, and he’ll give me a job and we can be a proper couple now. I won’t go away for months like that again.”

She didn’t answer right away and he felt a pit growing in his stomach. 

“Right?” he prompted. 

“I don’t know Tom,” she shook her head, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And it’s not, well, it’s not anything to do with you. I need you to know that. I just don’t know, if marriage in the traditional sense is right for me.”

“What do you mean? You don’t want to get married?”

She shook her head, “That’s not it. I just… I think I’d like to leave our dalliances on the table for a while. I think I would like that.”

“Oh,” he said, “I see. That’s what would make you happy?”

She stared at him for a moment, and he met her gaze, trying to keep his own expression neutral. If it would make her happy, Tom wanted her to at least be honest about it. He would rather know now. 

“Yes.”

“I want you to be happy,” he said firmly, finding it to be entirely true. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. But he also realized it wasn’t an appropriate response. He would have to discuss it with her and would have to think it over. 

He wanted her to say _I want you to be happy too._

“Thank you,” she said instead.


	33. mother knows best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets his mother's opinion on the matter

“Can I talk to you about some things Mama?”

“Of course Tommy. Come and sit with me,” Evelyn waved him over to her sofa, and set her novel across the arm. He settled down next to her and frowned, “What’s wrong darling?”

“It’s the wedding, Mama.”

“I’ve been very worried about you. Your father and I have both been worried. What happened to you,” she shook her head, “It makes me sick. We thought you dead, Tommy, we truly did.”

“I’m sorry I gave you such a fright.”

“What about the wedding?” she furrowed her eyebrows, “Was Siobhan not thrilled to see you?”

“She was, that’s not it. You’re going to think I’m terrible Mama, when I tell you this. But I don’t think I want to marry her. I don’t want to settle down here with her, forever. I, well, to put it plainly, it wasn’t as horrible as you think it was.”

“ _Pirates_ Tommy. I shudder to even think about it. You’re lucky to have come home in one piece. I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

And she was correct, for the most part. He’d been lucky to come out of it all alive, all things considered. The past few months had brought him closer to death than ever before. And he should be thankful to be home, to be alive, to be with his parents, and with Shiv. There were probably not many people who had been taken onto a pirate ship and then lived to tell the tale.

(If it hadn’t been for Greg, he wouldn't be there at all. It was impossible to forget who he owed his life to and how he’d repaid that debt in a broken heart.)

“I don’t understand it all,” she took his hand, “I can imagine you’re probably still… distressed about it all. But would it not be good to try and move on? To settle down with that lovely woman and start a life?”

“It’s difficult Mama. I don’t know how to tell you exactly. But I don’t think I can marry Shiv. I don’t think that I’ll be as happy with her as I might be… otherwise.”

He wasn’t going to tell her everything. Not the things he’d discovered about his bride to be, for he didn’t dare sully his mother’s views on Shiv, not the way that Greg made him feel, because he knew she could not understand it really. And he couldn’t bear the thought of her looking down on him over this behavior, which was probably her right. 

“I know I made a promise when I asked Shiv to marry me,” he said firmly, “I know it’s my job, my duty. But Mama, I don’t want to.”

“What is it that you want Tommy?” She brushed a thumb across his cheek, “You know that all your father and I wish for you is that you are happy and safe. You’re our only child after all. I thought that perhaps a marriage into the Roy family would ensure that for you. And though you’ve been all out of sorts lately, I thought it was from the past months' horrors, but now I think not.”

“I’d like to get back on the water,” Tom said, which was not, in fact, untrue, “I’m anxious to get off dry land.”

She looked at him for a moment, “There’s someone, isn’t there.”

“What do you mean?”

“You met someone. And she’s the one calling you back to the sea.”

Tom frowned, “Something in the vein.”

“You have a duty to your fiancée Tom, you know that. You asked the girl to marry you, and, so long as she wants to marry you, you have your duty. You promised her that,” his mother said firmly, but not unkindly. Her tone was distinctly parental.

“I know that.”

“But,” she interrupted, much to his surprise. He thought the matter was done, “You deserve to be happy too. That’s all we have in this life Tom. Our happiness. The people that we love. So here’s what you are going to do. Listen to your mother now. You are going to think long and hard tonight about this decision. Perhaps talk to your father, man to man about it. If, when the morning comes, you still want to leave, then you owe it to Siobhan to tell her in person. You’ll do the right thing. You’re a good man.”

Tom ran a hand over his face, and thought about several things. He thought about his ring on Shiv’s finger, and the package Greg had sent him, sitting unopened in his jacket pocket. He thought about the two roads that lay in front of him, and which one seemed the most likely to have happiness waiting for him at the end. 

“I’m going to go for a walk,” he said suddenly, standing up. With a nod, his mother let him go, repositioning herself on the sofa, “I’ll see you later.”

“What is it about this girl that’s got you so madly in love with her?”

“It’s complicated,” Tom replied, thinking about Greg’s evasive answers. This wasn’t _nearly_ as complicated as family blood curse, but it felt just as important. 

“Is she married?”

Tom shook his head.

She narrowed her eyes at him, “I don’t believe they allow women on pirate ships, so I don’t think she could be a pirate.”

“They don’t allow them. Women, I mean.”

“Ah,” she nodded. Tom knew it would have been stupid to think his mother wouldn’t figure it out somehow. She was a very bright woman after all, “I think I see it now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whyever are you apologizing? I’ll be the first to admit I don’t think I’d like a _pirate_ for my son, but you’re an adult, and you can make your own choices. And, if you want my opinion,” she sighed and shook her head, “Whichever one you pick, I’d pick too.”

She took her novel off the sofa and opened it on her lap again, and Tom knew that _now_ she was finished with the conversation. It was, after all, up to him. He was not a little boy whose mother had to make his decisions for him. 

“I’ll be back later,” he slipped into his coat and headed outside with little real direction, until he reached the river-- it seemed that even now the water was calling him. There were still people out in the twilight. Couples walked arm in arm, workers returned home. Sailors made their way to the docks or the pubs or somewhere more nefarious. He found a relatively unbroken and clean bench, sat down, and pulled the package out of his pocket. 

He peeled the paper off, and let the book fall into his lap. It was, after a quick examination, a French book for school children, probably no older than ten or so. He snorted, and picked up the letter. 

_Tom-_

__

__

I couldn’t get you much of a wedding present, so you’ll have to forgive me for that. But I figured this was just a tad advanced for you, so it’d be a good tutor. Not sure when you’ll get this, but I hope it’s around your wedding. Not much of a wedding present if it comes months later so here’s to hoping you’ve got it sooner rather than later. 

We’re off the east of Canada now. My mother was not prepared to play host to an entire pirate crew, but the news about the broken curse was enough of a payment. Tom, it had been so long since I’d seen her. She’s never been too happy with me, but she told me she was proud of me for this. She took to mothering all of us, and I think perhaps even old John might fancy her. He was tight lipped about it all, but I’d never seen the man so romantic. And I’ve never seen my mother so flustered. I think she liked it, whatever exactly it was. She’s a widow, now. 

It was hard to leave, but with the curse broken, I can see her as often as I please. She’s a skeptic when it comes to me, my mother, but she always believed in the curse, and she could tell it was broken. We’ve promised to come back soon, and John’s been drafting a letter to her for three weeks now. He won’t let me see it though. He knows I’d likely steal it, so I think he sleeps with it in his pocket.

Think we’ll be in the colonies for a bit now. I have no real desire to go back to England any time soon, and the rest of the crew still goes where I lead. I keep wondering when they’ll ask me to step down as captain, but they haven’t yet. We’ll work our way down the coast, and then the sky’s the limit. I’ll try to send you a letter or two along the way, but you don’t have to write back. You're a married man with a wife and responsibilities. 

I hope you’re enjoying London and married life (or soon to be married life). I’m certainly enjoying the ability to stay on land for more than a week without feeling like death himself. 

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you though. 

_Fondly,  
Greg_

It was impossible to miss the fact that “fondly” was only written as a closing after several other words were crossed out and illegible. Tom held the letter up to the dying sunlight, but he couldn’t discern what Greg had decided _not_ to say. 

He folded the letter back up, and flipped gently through the book. He couldn’t help but laugh at the present. It was all so simple and so Goddamn difficult.


	34. wambsgans & son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom presents his father with his options.

As his mother had suggested, Tom went to see his father when he returned home. Henry Wambsgans sat in his study, behind his big desk, rifling through a pile of papers on his desk. 

“What are you looking for?” Tom asked from the doorway. Greg’s letter was tucked safely in his pocket, but he held the book in his hands.

“My glasses,” his father replied.

“On your head,” Tom pointed to his own head, “Can I talk to you?”

His father laughed at himself and put his glasses on, “Of course my boy. Come and sit.”

Tom had visited his father in his study a hundred times as a child, always in the same chair on the opposite side of the desk. His father once said he was always welcome to come into his study, and he only needed to knock if he had a visitor. 

“What’s on your mind?” His father looked at him, “Taking French lessons again?”

Tom chuckled and looked down at the book cover, “It’s complicated.”

“Did your mother send you in here to talk to me? She thinks you’ve been particularly pensive since the wedding date’s been scheduled again. Have you spoken to her about whatever it is?”

Tom nodded, “I don’t think I want to marry.”

His father folded his hands on the desk, “And why’s that?”

“I fell in love with someone else,” Tom said. And it felt…strange to say that out loud. He knew, really, deep down, that that was the case. He’d been in love before, so he knew how it was supposed to feel. But he wasn’t _supposed_ to fall in love with somebody else, especially not another man who also made his living as a pirate. There were so many things Tom was not supposed to do, and those were towards the very top of the list.

“I see,” his father said, “And you don’t think it would be fair to Miss Roy if you were to marry her while you had feelings for this other woman.”

Tom swallowed, “Something like that. Yes.”

“What did your mother say?”

“She said that whoever I would pick, she would pick too.”

His father laughed, “That woman. I adore your mother Tom. She makes me happier than I have ever been in my entire life. I look forward to waking up next to her every morning, and lying down with her at night. She gave me everything I have ever needed, including you. I know that I made the right choice when I married her. Will you be that happy with Siobhan?”

Tom shrugged, “I am happy with her, but I think I might be happier without her.”

“With this mystery woman?”

“Mama said she didn’t think she’d like a pirate for me, but that I could make my own choices.”

His father sat back in his chair, “I see.”

“Are you going to disinherit me?”

“Of course not,” his father chuckled, “Don’t be foolish. I agree with your mother, whoever makes you the happiest, then that’s who you ought to marry. It won’t be right for you to marry Siobhan and subject both of you to a miserable marriage.”

“But I’m the one who proposed to her. Don’t I have a duty as a man to marry her?”

His father shrugged, “Where does our duty to others end and our duty to ourselves begin? You’re a man grown Tom. You have a fine work ethic, a proper education, and several years of naval and sailing training. You can have any life you want.”

“I suppose.”

“What’s the book?”

“Oh,” Tom held up the book, “I _think_ it’s a children’s grammar book but I’m not sure. It was a wedding present. I just got a letter with it.”

“That’s a strange choice.”

“I was trying to learn French. On the ship. I think it’s a bit of a joke, since this is about as much French as I can speak.”

His father raised his eyebrows, “You received French lessons from a pirate? Why did we pay tutors all those years?”

“Well, one lesson.”

“You have to make a decision soon,” his father said, “It’s not fair to keep your fiancée waiting if you don’t intend to marry her, and it’s not going to be easy to hunt down a pirate ship the more time passes from when you last spoke to them.”

“Canada,” Tom patted the pocket with the letter, “That’s what… what he said anyway.”

This didn’t seem to phase his father by any means. He had been nervous to try and even begin to explain things to his parents, but it seemed that all the anxiety was wasted. 

“You have to choose,” his father sighed, “We can’t choose for you Tom. You know this? You have to make the decision that you’re going to be happiest with. You can agonize over it all you want, but in the end, you have to make the decision.”

“Of course. I know.”

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts,” his father stood up, and came over. He paused a bit to put a hand on Tom’s shoulder, squeezed, then let go. It was affectionate and supportive, but Tom knew it was about all that he could do, “Put the fire out before you retire please. We’ll see you for breakfast.”

Tom was left alone with his thoughts, a letter, and a French children’s book.

But really it didn’t take that long at all. Now that he was alone to think about it, to have his two options in front of him, it didn’t even take that long. The months he had spent thinking about it, trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing by himself, the right thing by Shiv. All of that and all it had taken was a moment alone. 

Mostly the decision came quick because he knew the answer. _Had_ known the answer for a while now and had simply refused to see it. Damn he’d been stubborn. Maybe he deserved to be unhappy for all his stubborness. He deserved for Greg to look at him and turn him away, send him back to London. That’s what he deserved. 

But he had to try. He tucked the book away and put the fire out. 

He _had_ to hurry. He did have a pirate ship to hunt down after all.


	35. the pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom tries to hunt down the _Stag_ in America.

“I’m looking for a ship,” Tom asked, leaning on the counter, as he had done in every port this side of the Atlantic. He worried, again, that he was too late. That the time he’d spent in London and on the return journey were enough to put too much distance between him and the _Stag._ Between him and Greg. 

“Lots a ships down at the docks,” the barkeep replied nonchalantly, and Tom bit back a nasty reply. He was desperate for the man’s help and had to keep his words civil, “What ship are you looking for?”

“ _The Dark Stag,_ ” Tom said, hoping it was still called that. If Greg’s grandfather had named it, it was unlikely Greg would change it. But he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t renamed by his father, in which case, it was likely called something else by now. That was a new fear he’d developed on the voyage over, “She’ll likely be flying under a British flag. Down from Canada?”

The man frowned at him, and narrowed his eyes, “What’s it to a man like you? That’s no’ a reputable ship. What’s it to _you_?”

“I’m not an officer,” Tom said, shaking his head, wondering how desperate he must sound, “I’m not going to arrest them for piracy. I used to sail with them, several months ago. I’d like to find them again. A man in Boston sent me to Richmond, and a woman in Richmond sent me here.”

“What’s on that ship?”

Clearly he was not going to get answers without giving some himself. He hadn’t really expected an inquisition, but still, he played nice.

Tom frowned, “Everything. Everything that matters to me right now is on that ship and I need to find her. Do you understand?”

“We’ll they’re not here,” he said, and Tom held back a groan and looked down at the bar. He was beginning to think by the time got to Florida, someone was going to send him back up the coast to start all over again and that would be what he would do for the rest of his life, always one or two ports behind where he needed to be, “Not for, oh, three days or so now.”

“Three days?” Tom’s head shot back up, “That’s not long. Where are they headed?”

“Charleston,” the barkeep said, “If you hurry by land, you’ll likely meet them there before they set sail again.”

“Charleston?” Tom asked, “You’re sure?”

“Aye. I’m sure.”

Tom dug around in his pockets, placed several coins on the counter, saluted, and ran out of the bar. Charleston he could do. If he hurried, he could be there in a few days. It would take the ship a few days to have gotten there, perhaps making port today or yesterday. Tomorrow if the weather was unfavorable. If Tom hurried, hired a fast coach or a fast horse he could make it. 

He had to make it. Because he didn’t want to chase them anymore. He just wanted to be there.

Finding transport down the coast was as easy as he had hoped. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but it was fast, and didn’t cost all his money. He saw that as fairly good. When he arrived in Charleston, a little sore from the coach and in desperate need of a hot meal, but no worse for the wear, he set out to look. Even if he could just find the ship, hunting down a familiar crew member would be reasonable. 

He composed himself, and made his way to the docks. 

After all, he had to begin his next leg of the trip somewhere. And the docks always had people willing to take you by land if you could pay. The man had suggested going by land and Tom, who hadn’t been to the colonies beyond brief stops in New York and Boston, had to trust him.

Leaving London had been much easier this time. 

His parents had both seen him off and he swore three times that he would post letters every time that he could. Mostly to ensure his mother wasn’t going to come with him just to make sure he didn’t get captured again.

“We want you to bring him home,” his mother had said, and Tom had promised to ask, but not to get her hopes up, “Bring him home so that we can meet him. We’d be delighted to host him.”

“At least write about him,” his father had offered, and Tom agreed that this was probably more reasonable.

Shiv had taken the break… fairly well. He had explained it very carefully that it wasn’t her fault, but it wasn’t going to work out between them. He wished her all the best, but he sort of thought he was more upset by it than she was when she gave him back the engagement ring. 

He had not seen Logan again, and had a feeling he would not have been welcome in his offices but that was alright. Tom’s father had placed a small purse of money in his hands. 

“I can’t take this,” Tom said, trying to hand it back, “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my ticket already.”

“We insist,” his mother said, folding his hand over the bag, “Buy your postage for your letters. Now you’ve no excuse.”

Tom had held true to his word, and posted every letter he wrote at every new port. He even thought about asking Greg to come to London with him sometime, if he could leave the _Stag_ but this was all just thoughts right now, since he was still desperately searching for the ship. If he couldn’t find it, then all of that wouldn’t matter. 

Charleston. It would be easy enough to find passage there. A coach wouldn’t be too expensive, though it would take several days. He needed to leave soon, with the first coach he could find. If he got to Charleston and found he’d just missed Greg and the others again, he thought he might go a little mad.

But he wasn't _going_ to fail. He was going to go to Charleston and Greg was going to be there, and then he could start his life anew.


	36. reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's hard work pays off

Actually, Tom felt almost more nervous about what he’d do if the ship _was_ there. That’s what he suddenly thought as he made his way further into the Charleston docks.

He’d thought it over a hundred times in the coach, what he might say to Greg. The things he would have to atone for. How exactly he might explain himself, but this was as close as he’d been in months. Greg had been kind in his letter, but it could have been an act. Maybe Greg would never want to see him again. Would he even blame Greg for that? Would he nod, take it, and go back to London and live out the rest of his life alone?

The docks were alive with people. Sailors shouted back and forth, children chased each other. The stone was damp and the air smelled like salt. Tom knew he looked lost, but he also looked like the hundred other sailors looking for work on the ships in the harbor. He did not, and would not stand out.

And then he saw her. The _Stag._ Tom never thought he would be happy to see a Goddamn pirate ship, but he didn’t press down the laugh that bubbled up. He did, however, try not to run over. He didn’t want to make a bigger ass out of himself, since he was sure some of them probably hated him.

He slipped into the line and waited his turn, stomach turning at the thought of seeing these people again-- of seeing Greg again.

“Well it’s the fancy man himself,” John said, looking Tom up and down when he stepped forward, “Last we heard you were gettin’ married. What are ye doin’ here?”

“Looking for a job,” Tom said, fairly certain that every word that was going to come out of his mouth would be off the cuff. He had no idea where this was going to go, “I see you’re hiring. I have experience. Naval, private, and brief stint in a pirate’s kitchen. I’m a hard worker, though I don’t have much by way of references. My previous captain met his untimely end whilst I was working for him.”

John laughed heartily, “Get onboard lad, I don’t need convincin’. The boy’s in the captain’s quarters last I checked. You remember the way?”

Tom laughed too, and hefted his knapsack over his shoulder, “I’m sure I do. I was dragged there enough times. This all looks very official. What’s new?”

_Does he hate me?_ Tom wanted to ask _Will he look at me in anger or will he take me back?_

“We’ve got papers and everything now. Save for the occasional smuggling, we’re proper privateers now. Everything’s legitimate, hand to God. So long as it’s a friendly port, we shan’t be dancing with Jack Ketch anytime soon. The boy’s cleaned up our act. Prob’ly for the best I say.”

Tom smiled, “Well, you’re on the come up now aren’t you?”

John waved him through with a hearty chuckle, and called up the next man in line. Tom tipped his hat to Henry on his way up the gangplank, who saluted back. There were a few new faces, but many he remembered-- and many remembered him. They waved politely, or called out in greeting. Several looked surprised to see him, and given the fuss he had put up, he didn’t blame them in the slightest.

He strode across the deck, and spotted Greg up by the wheel, a map between himself and a man he didn’t recognize. His heart sped up a bit. 

“ _Mon capitaine!_ ” he called, and they both looked over. Greg blinked in surprise, like he was seeing a ghost.

“Tom?”

“In the flesh.”

“I thought you were getting married,” Greg handed the map over and came to stand at the top of the stairs, “I don’t imagine your wife would be too thrilled with you getting roped up in a pirate crew. Again.”

“It’s complicated,” Tom replied, “I’ll tell you about it later. I heard you were looking for reliable sailors.”

Greg beamed, “I don’t think you’re particularly reliable, but I’ll take you all the same.”

“Are you going to come down here?” Tom asked, and Greg flew down the stairs to stand in front of him. He looked well, Tom thought. Healthy and strong. Good Lord, he’d missed Greg, “I expect much better treatment this time. No more knocking me out. I’m demanding it.”

“Pay’s shit,” Greg admitted, “It’s split fairly even but there’s not much of it, save what we scavenge. But I’ll warm your bed if you like.”

“Accepted,” Tom said, and he grabbed the collar of Greg’s shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him. Greg’s hands settled on his waist, his grip tight and reassuring. After a moment, Greg pulled away, beaming.

“You’re not married?”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I’m not. I had a hell of a time trying to find you again. You told me you were going to write, I hoped I could use that to find you. You’re terrible at that.”

“I meant to write,” Greg said sheepishly, “I really did. But you found us anyway. I can’t believe you’re here.”

Without another word, Tom pulled him into a hug. Tightly. He thought he was just the right height to be held by Greg, who’s chin fit perfectly on the top of his head. He felt Greg’s arms tighten around him. It was as if nothing had changed. He’d never left. The past few months were just a distant dream. He wanted nothing more than this.

“Cap’n!” a voice shouted, and Tom let go to see who it was. Greg didn’t let him go far though, keeping his hands firmly on Tom’s waist. It was a boy, no more than twelve or thirteen. He was scrawny and wore the hat that had belonged to Greg’s father, though it was far too big for him. Tom briefly imagined Greg placing it on the boy’s head in an almost paternal way, sending him off one evening, while the boy enjoyed the captain’s attention, “Is this the fancy man cap’n? The one you think is pretty?”

“Billy, you’re supposed to be down helping Gerald,” Greg said, turning several shades of red, all the way up his face and including his ears. Tom laughed. 

“Pretty?” Tom said, “Well it takes one to know one I suppose.”

“He wanted ‘ta see what all the noise was about,'' Billy said. He eyed Tom suspiciously and Tom straightened a bit, like this child was here to judge him, “That’s all.”

“Does everyone seem to know about your feelings? You’re not too good at keeping secrets.”

Greg shrugged, “It doesn’t need to be a secret. Why don’t you go see if John needs any help gettin’ things on board Billy.”

“Aye aye,” Billy said, saluting. He darted past them, pausing only long to look up once more at Tom. He couldn’t read the child’s face to figure out what he was thinking. 

“It doesn’t seem like a safe place for a child,” Tom muttered.

“He’s a little rascal,” Greg shook his head, but there was a note of fondness in his voice, “He snuck on board when we docked in New York. We were already a day or so out of port when he made himself known. He’s an orphan after all. And a good boy.”

Tom watched the boy dart off, down the gangplank he couldn’t help but think that Greg was thinking of himself at that age. 

“I missed you,” Greg said, changing the topic quickly, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You know,” Tom tucked a strand of hair back behind Greg’s ear, “Neither can I.”

“How’d you end the engagement?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Tom said, and kissed him quickly on the cheek, “Let me put this down and get settled huh?”

“Do you uh,” Greg’s blush deepened, “Need help with that?”

Tom rolled his eyes, “Come along Captain. I believe I was promised someone to warm my bed.”


	37. second star on the right, straight on till morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg share a late night conversation under the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap on this one! thanks for allowing me my nonsense au concept. 
> 
> as per tradition, playlist for this fic can be found [ here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1IdNTJ3821THUUuAiqkkd7?si=mvBF4bRvTYKcNsoik-uXBA) with a combination of my favorite sea shanties, and other vaguely pirate-y songs!

It was a beautifully clear night. The stars seemed to twinkle in the sky, and Tom leaned against the ship to watch them. It wasn’t too cold nor too hot. Truly, you did not have these sort of nights in London. This kind of calm and clear night where the stars looked close enough to reach out and touch. 

“I thought you’d snuck off somewhere,” Greg said, and he heard the deck squeak while he walked over to stand next to him, “What are you doing?”

“Enjoying some damn peace and quiet,” Tom laughed, “you don’t get much around here with a crew like this, and you never shut up. Good Lord Greg, do you ever stop talking?”

“You’re the one that came back,” Greg elbowed him gently, “Do you think we’ll ever travel to the stars Tom?”

“You have too much imagination for one man. It’s not healthy.”

“I mean it. Once we’ve sailed the world, don’t you think it makes sense to travel to the stars? Doesn’t that make sense?”

Tom shrugged. He thought Greg was a deeply optimistic human, “Maybe one day. Long after you and I are dust and shadows though.”

“I’m very glad you’re here Tom,” he said quietly, after a few moments of silence had passed.

“So am I.”

They lapsed into silence again. The waves licked the sides of the ship, the sound familiar and calming. He could hear Greg breathing next to him, could feel his shoulder pressed against his own. 

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to find you,” Tom admitted, “It took ages. You _said_ you were going to write. I have proof of your word. Written proof.”

“I tried,” Greg said, “I was no good at it. I didn’t know what to say. I kept writing half a letter and tearing it up because it sounded stupid.”

“I like the boy,” Tom said, “You like him too. You are trying not to be your father.”

“Is that a crime?” Greg replied softly. Tom had just been trying to joke with him, but he should have realized it would have been a difficult subject, “Of course I’m trying not to be my father.”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “it’s not a crime.”

“I truthfully don’t know much about children, but the others raised me alright. I suppose he’ll be alright too.”

“I am the oldest of eight cousins,” Tom said, “I think I know a thing or two about children.”

“It’s a good thing you came back then,” Greg reasoned. He touched Tom’s arm and turned to face him. Tom turned as well. It was just moonlight illuminating the scene. Greg looked pale and lovely, and Tom wondered, not for the first time, how he had ended up in this spot in life, “It’s a good thing you came back. I didn’t think that you would. I would dream about it, but I never thought you would come back to me.”

A beat passed. The waves were the only sound. 

“Why _did_ you come back?” Greg asked, in no more than a whisper, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Like he was risking something by asking. What must he have expected Tom’s answer to be?

“Because I love you,” Tom said. It felt, well, it felt _good_ to finally say it to Greg. He’d been thinking it before, all the way across the Atlantic, down the coast, trying to imagine the right time to tell Greg, “I love you and you didn’t know. You needed to know. And it’s dangerous, isn’t it. What you do. And I may love you Greg, but you’re not the brightest, and you need me around to look after you. I think I’d be good at that. Looking after you. Do you?”

“Yes,” Greg smiled, “I do.”

The waves continued to rock the ship ever so slightly. Tom heard his own pulse in his ears. The stars were bright, the air was cool, and Tom felt like he’d been given a second chance for the first time in his life. He could not waste it. There wouldn’t be a third chance. He knew that, somehow. This was a kind of a restart to the life he had planned. Sure, it was not as he originally expected, but sometimes life did that.

“Tom?”

“Hmm?” he brushed a thumb across Greg’s cheek. 

“Let’s play the game.”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you going to stay here?” He thought Greg sounded almost nervous. As if this had all been some elaborate joke or something. And perhaps he deserved it, for leaving as he did, after it all. Greg had a right to be cautious. Likely he was asking it as part of the game so it wasn’t as nerve wracking for him.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“It’s not your turn to ask the question,” Tom said, “It’s my turn. That’s the rule Greg. It’s a game with only one rule and that’s it. Surely you haven’t forgotten already? But, I’ll humor you. Yes, really.”

“I love you too,” Greg said, “In case you didn’t know. I mean, I have for a long time. I don’t know. I didn’t want to tell you. It wouldn’t have been fair of me to tell you. I didn’t want to… guilt you into staying when I knew you wanted to go back to London so bad.”

“I love you,” Tom said again, just to see how the words sounded when he said them to Greg, against the waves and the stars and the salt. He thought they sounded wonderful, “And I’m not leaving you again. I shouldn’t have- I don’t know. Do you forgive me?”

“That’s your question?”

Tom nodded, “It’s my turn after all. I get to ask any question I like.”

Greg sighed, “I forgive you. I think that maybe, well, I understood why you left Tom. I promise that I do. But I’m glad you came back. I’m so glad you came back.”

Tom sighed, feeling the salt air in his lungs, “I am too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> appreciate you as always! you can always find me on tumblr [ here](https://feuillytheflorist.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy the ride


End file.
